


Who Lives, Who Dies, Who Tells Your Story

by DanDreiberg



Category: RWBY
Genre: But... But I'm Going to Keep Trying..., Honestly This is Probably Going to be Crap but I'm Doing My Darndest, I'll Tag More Stuff as I Come to It, Multi, Relationships Are Going to Build Slowly, This is Going to Get Darker and More Languagey, Updates Will Be Sparse
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-05-16
Updated: 2018-01-10
Packaged: 2018-06-08 18:25:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 20
Words: 22,938
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6868417
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DanDreiberg/pseuds/DanDreiberg
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Centuries before the events of RWBY, Remnant was a united kingdom ruled with an iron fist by the Schnee dynasty. In the capital city of Vale, powerful players come together to change the course of history. Or something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Prologue I: Fugitive

**Author's Note:**

> So basically my idea with this is to write a more fleshed-out origin story for the four maidens and the founding of Beacon, but with the characters of RWBY. Not sure if it's going to work, but we'll see. My conception of past Remnant draws pretty heavily from the work of Tamora Pierce (her stuff is good-- 10/10 would recommend). There will probably be multiple Hamilton references, because Alexander Hamilton is my hero and I love Lin-Manuel Miranda's musical. Also, maybe it's just me, but I think that in a way the tone of Hamilton meshes well with a lot of the themes of RWBY. Last thing for now, Volume 3 broke my heart in a good way. Pyrrha was my favorite character on the show, and her fall and death were so well written (in my opinion) and really deeply upsetting. That is probably going to be reflected in some way in this story. I'll be updating tags as the story develops.

            Fingers shaking, in the light of the full moon, the girl struggled to finish her letter. Intermittently she blew on her fingers to warm them or the ink to dry it. Though her ears detected no approaching intruder, she knew that she did not have much time.

            _I am, and ever shall be_. The words felt hollow coming out of her pen, looked hollow on the parchment. _I am, and ever shall be_. She moved to cross out the words, stopped. _I am, and ever shall be, your ally in the fight for justice_. She chewed the pen nervously, ears twitching. _I am, and ever shall be, an ally to those who fight for justice: Blake Belladonna_. She put down the pen, satisfied, and hefted her bundle on her back, armed her weapon, stepped to the window.

            Footsteps sounded on the staircase below, footsteps coming up the tower. _They knew. He suspected_. Blake glanced around the tiny room, which was in the second tallest tower of the dilapidated once-abandoned castle. Satisfied that she had forgotten nothing of importance, she stepped onto the windowsill, crouched, prepared herself.

            The door flew open. “ _Blake!_ ”

            Blake looked at the boy with the red hair, the man-boy with the red hair and the horns. She breathed in. Out.

            “Goodbye, Adam.”

            She dropped.


	2. Prologue II: Princess

            Dinner was, as ever, a glacially elegant affair.

            Weiss Schnee, Princess of the Realm of Remnant, Second in Line for the Throne after Her Highness Winter Schnee, kept her eyes on the rim of her plate.

            The gold leaf had chipped off in one spot. It irked her.

            “Luft tells me that your fencing is progressing quite well, Winter,” His Royal Majesty the King said.

            “Thank you, Father,” Her Highness Winter replied.

            “Pity she couldn’t say the same for you, Weiss,” His Majesty drawled.

            Weiss said nothing. She watched the plate.

            “And your summoning is coming along well, too, I’ve heard, Winter,” His Majesty continued. “In fact, Atem claims that you may even become a more powerful summoner than your Aunt Blanche.”

            Winter blushed and glanced at her sister. “Really, father, it’s nothing.”

            “Nothing? Hah! You’re a marvel, child,” the man said. “I’m glad I have at least one daughter of whom I can be proud.”

            “That’s enough!” Her Royal Majesty the Queen snapped. “Weiss is performing exceptionally well with her glyphs. Her swordplay may be merely mediocre for now and she certainly struggles more than any Schnee I’ve met when it comes to summoning, but I am sure that those will come with time.” Her Majesty cast her icy gaze on her younger daughter. “And Weiss will continue to work very, very hard to ensure that they do.”

            Weiss nodded. “Yes, mother.”

            His Majesty snorted. “Regardless, she must face her Test soon.”

            “Soon enough,” Her Majesty said. “But not just yet.”

            Weiss continued to stare at the plate. She wondered if the plate would be mended if and when someone noticed the flaw, or if it would just be tossed out with the trash.


	3. Prologue III: Huntress

 

 

            Ruby Rose narrowed her eyes. She leveled her scythe. She waited.

            “Here it comes!”

            The big blond man lobbed an apple into the air thirty yards in front of Ruby. The small girl dug into the ground and then sped off, red cape flying behind her. She readied her scythe, was just about to catch the apple on the sharp tip, when—

            _Caw!_

            A large crow swooped down and plucked the apple out of the air.

            Ruby pouted. “No fair, Uncle Qrow!” But she was laughing. “You should have to use your scythe, too!”

            Where the crow had been, a scruffy man appeared. “Hey, I have to use my scythe, you can’t use your speed.” He grinned. “Best three out of five?”

            “You’re on!” Ruby replied. She turned to the blond man. “Get ready, Dad!”

            Before the trio could return to their respective starting positions, however, the sound of a barking corgi alerted them to the approach of a pair of mounted horses. The riders were familiar, and Qrow slowly sauntered toward them, a lopsided smirk on his face.

            “Well, if it ain’t Jimmy and Glynda! How’re you two old fogeys holding up?”

            The stern-looking woman harrumphed, and the man with the military bearing frowned. “Old fogey, my ass,” the woman growled, as the man said, “It’s James.”

            Ruby’s father approached. “James! Glynda! To what do we owe the pleasure?”

            Glynda smiled tightly. “It’s good to see you, Taiyang.” Her face settled back into its habitual stern mask. “Our purpose here is twofold. First, Huntsman Ozpin would like to have a word with young Ruby. He may be interested in taking her on as an Apprentice.”

            Ruby, who had scooped up the dog, started slightly. “I thought Ozpin didn’t take Apprentices anymore.”

            James smiled warmly. “He usually doesn’t, but he’s heard that you are… unique.”

            Ruby frowned. “Not really. I’m just a girl with a scythe.”

            “Would you at least be willing to talk with the man?”

            “Would I?” Ruby squeaked. “He’s a legend! I want to ask him to tell me all of his stories and give me tips for improving Crescent Rose and… well…” Ruby cleared her throat. “I mean, yes. I would be honored to give Huntsman Ozpin an audience!”

            “Good,” Glynda said. “Now, the second issue… it’s about Yang.”

            Ruby frowned and Taiyang gasped. “Has something happened to her?” Taiyang asked.

            “Not exactly,” James said. “It’s more… she’s happened to something.”

            “Don’t be cryptic, Jimmy,” Qrow said. “What has Yang gotten herself into now?”

            Glynda sighed. “You needn’t worry; it’s not exactly an emergency, but the sooner we get back, the better… You’ll see.”


	4. Prologue IV: Thief

            Yang Xiao Long strutted into the pub. She paused for a moment in the doorway, arms akimbo, surveying the premises.

            _Only a few patrons. Cheap mercenary guards in one corner. Bard opposite. Bar and kitchen entrance kitty corner._

            The corner of Yang’s mouth twisted up in a confident smirk. _Perfect_.

            Yang slouched into a seat at a table and flagged down a barmaid. “One strawberry sunrise, sweetheart.” Yang winked. “With one of those little umbrellas in it.”

            The barmaid nodded and turned, only to run into a burly bearded man.

            “Hey, there, Blondie, aren’t you a little young to be drinking?” The man sat across from Yang.

            Yang smiled sweetly. “Aren’t you a little old to be called Junior?” She took a locket from around her neck and opened it, showing him the miniature painting inside. “They say you know everything and everyone in these parts. What can you tell me about this woman?”

            Junior looked at the picture briefly and then shook his head. “Never seen her, Blondie. Sorry I can’t help you.”

            “Oh, so am I,” Yang said. Her smile disappeared and she flipped the table with her right arm and got a good grip on Junior’s privates with her left. “Where is she?”

            Junior wheezed in pain. “I… I have no idea, Blondie! I swear!”

            “I have an idea,” Yang growled. “How about instead of ‘Blondie,’ you call me ‘Sir!’ ”

            “Yes… Blondie… Sir! Please just let me go!”

            Yang released her grip and leaned back. She planted her chin on her palm and fixed a sympathetic look on her face. “Aw, Junior, things don’t have to be this way. Let’s kiss and make up, okay?”

            Puzzlement replaced pain on Junior’s face. “Huh? Um… okay.” He leaned in for the kiss. For a moment, Yang did, too. Then her fist shot out and connected satisfyingly with Junior’s nose, sending him flying backwards.

            Yang stood slowly, taking note of the fleeing patrons, the (now muttering and definitely interested) guards, the bard (cautiously replacing his mandolin with a dust cartridge-equipped crossbow), focusing on Junior. “So, what, Junior, did you think that you could just stop paying your protection fee when the old King died?”

            Junior moaned.

            The guards had by this point reached the decision that Yang was a threat. She heard them approaching behind her and armed her gauntlets as she turned to face them. _Flip a table at them to slow the approach. Over the table. Hit to the face. Block. Hit to the sternum. Turn. Grasp under the elbow._ Yang tore through the hired hitters, feeling the joy of battle burn through her.

            The bard chose to make his attack just as Yang finished off the last of the guards, shouting an incoherent battle cry and running at her with his weapon firing wildly. Yang took advantage of his poor stance and off-kilter center of gravity, flipping him over almost effortlessly.

            “Let’s teach this girl a lesson.” Yang looked in the direction of the voice and saw two girls that she must have assumed to be patrons upon her entrance into the bar approaching her. It was now clear that they weren’t actually just patrons. Yang took in their combat skirts and metal-toed boots. Clearly, these were the bouncers, and they looked like they had a much better idea of what they were doing than the meat bags playing at guard duty.

            Yang flipped out the spent cartridges in her gauntlets and slapped in new ones with a practiced flip of her wrists.

            The girls were good. They were probably only about Yang’s age, maybe 17 or 18 years, but still they clearly fought with many years of experience behind them. They were good with their footwork. Yang struggled to block their kicks, backing up as first one and then the other tried to trip her up.

            Finally, the taller of the two girls made a mistake, leaving one leg in Yang’s punching range for a fraction of a second too long. Yang struck down and hit hard, then landed a kick of her own on the taller girl’s stomach. Meanwhile, the shorter girl got a kick in on Yang’s shoulder, but Yang was able to grab her foot and flip her over.

            “Alright, Blondie, that’s enough.” Yang looked back to the table where she’d left Junior. He was behind the bar, pulling a hammer of his own from under the bar.

            “Really, Junior, is that any way to address your new King? I thought I told you to call me Sir!”

            Junior laughed. “You, the new King? You’re just a girl!”

            Yang grinned. She ran forward, reared back, and struck down on Junior’s right shoulder as he caught her on her own right shoulder with his hammer, sending her flying across the room into a wall. She felt the blood rushing through her veins, could practically see her aura. She grinned. She smashed her fists together, and flames flared around her. Her violet eyes flashed red.

            She ran at Junior again, hitting him once, twice, three times. He barely batted her away, catching some of her hair as he did so.

            Yang saw the hank of yellow hair in Junior’s hand and felt a wave of intense fury wash over her. The pub blurred. Her eyes glowed scarlet and she gave a yell as she sprinted forward and punched Junior with all her muscle and the force of her charged up aura. Junior flew backward and through the wall, landing on the street outside the bar.

            Yang followed him out through the hole and surveyed his unconscious form.

            “Yang? Is that you?”

            Yang looked up and saw a short girl with dark red-brown hair and silver eyes. “Oh, hiya Ruby!” She blinked and her eyes faded back to violet.

            Ruby cocked her head to the side. “What are you doing here?”

            Yang laughed. “It’s a long story.” She looked past Ruby to the people standing behind her. “Dad! Uncle Qrow! How’s it going? And… you two are?”

            “What’s this all about, Yang?” Taiyang asked. He looked at the unconscious man with a concerned air.

            “I’m Huntress Glynda Goodwitch, and this is General James Ironwood of the Royal Army,” Glynda said. She looked at Yang sternly and pushed her glasses up her nose. “And we’re here to have a word with the new King of Thieves.”

            Ruby looked at Glynda and then back at Yang. “Wait... you mean…”

            Yang laughed again. “Yup! Your big sister is this city’s new King of Thieves!”

            Qrow groaned as Taiyang looked aghast. Qrow took a swig from his flask, wiped his mouth, and said, “Well, there goes the neighborhood.”


	5. Into the City

            Blake had heard stories about the city of Vale all her life. Stories about the food, the buildings, the crowds and crowds of people. She’d thought that she had a pretty good idea of what to expect.

            She’d been wrong.

            The masses of people were absolutely overwhelming, beyond anything she could have imagined. Horses and carts carrying people and goods rattled down rutted cobblestone roads. Men and women carrying baskets of food, loads of lumber, and bags of clothes for sale or trade wove between the carts and walked briskly down the trash-filled gutters on either side of the streets. The roads were lined with shops constructed of the rough local greystone and wooden selling-stalls; Blake passed one stall selling fish and had to exert a great deal of self-control to keep herself from stopping and immediately spending all of her money (which admittedly would not have gotten her much fish anyway). Ragged children dashed between the legs of the adults, under the carts, past the stalls. Some of them, Blake noted, were faunus. Most were human. She reached up and adjusted the black bow resting on top of her black hair, reassured herself that the pair of cat-ears that marked her as a faunus were well hidden.

            As Blake made her way toward the center of the lower section of the city, she paid close attention to the street names marked out on the walls of the street corner buildings. _Ahorn, Eiche, Schnee Street, Zurmeer_. The names were reminders of the United Kingdom of Remnant’s Old Language, artifacts from a time long dead. However, more than the curiosities of language, Blake was interested in locating a particular road: Gauner’s Street. According to a kind old woman who had given her a ride from the outskirts of town to the city proper, the King of Thieves traditionally kept court in a pub at the corner of Gauner’s Street and Main Street. And there was a new King in this city, one who might be interested in hiring some new crew members.

            Overwhelmed as she was by the sights and sounds of the city, Blake did not notice the royal carriage until it was nearly on top of her. She scrambled to get out of the way, the motion of hundreds of other people trying to do the same carrying her off the road. She steadied herself against the wall of what appeared to be a book store and took a good look at the carriage.

            She deduced that this was a Palace carriage from the pure whiteness of it and the horses that pulled it and also from the Schnee snowflake emblazoned on its side. She had seen that snowflake thousands of times before, on boxes containing shipments of dust. The carriage was long and shaped like an arced rectangular prism, coming up at the front and the rear with a dip in the middle. The trim was the faintest blue. The driver was liveried in Schnee white. Blake estimated that he was in his early thirties. As the carriage passed directly in front of her, Blake caught a glimpse of two girls that she assumed must be the princesses—one tall and well-developed, the other short and boyishly slender. Though Blake did not get a good look at their faces, she did get a distinct impression of intense paleness from both, as well as an aura of soundless frigidity. This corresponded chillingly well to the almost complete silence of the crowd watching the carriage go by. Blake shivered.

            As the carriage passed, it occurred to Blake that any sort of large formal guard was curiously absent. The driver of the carriage looked able-bodied enough, but he didn’t strike Blake as a fighter. The only other member of the retinue was a young soldier mounted on a palomino horse, a tall, muscular girl with red hair and brilliant green eyes. Blake reasoned that the soldier could handle any small-scale annoyances perfectly well, but she would have expected far more guards for the royal princesses, at the very least for the sake of appearances. She leaned closer to a small boy standing near her.

            “Shouldn’t the princesses travel with more of a guard?” she whispered.

            The boy gave her a look clearly meant to communicate that he thought her daft. “I don’t reckon as they need one,” he whispered back. “The princesses are expert fighters what as can protect themselves. And in case they can’t, that’s _Pyrrha Nikos_ riding with them.” Awe filled the boy’s eyes. “My da says she’s the kindest and the strongest and the bravest soldier that ever lived.”

            Blake smiled slightly. “And how would your da know all that?”

            “He’s a smith in the palace forge,” the boy replied. “He makes the finest weapons of anybody in Remnant,” he said proudly, “and he knows every soldier in the Royal Guard. He reckons she’s on her way to becoming the youngest Captain of the Royal Guard ever.”

            Blake straightened and got a better look at the receding figure of Pyrrha Nikos. She wore armor made of some sort of yellow metal and red leather, and she carried a hoplon and a javelin which, judging by the small scope on one side and the slight roundness of a slender barrel on the other, was capable of firing dust cartridges. Again, Blake was struck by her powerful build. She nodded. The boy’s hero worship likely clouded his judgement of the soldier, but this Pyrrha was clearly a fighter.

            And if the mere presence of the princesses could silence such a crowd (and they themselves were fighters besides), even such a fighter as the boy believed Pyrrha to be was likely superfluous as a guard.

            As the people around them returned to the hustle and bustle of their daily lives, Blake turned back to the boy. He was about nine, Blake decided, with a shock of wild gray hair and blood-red eyes that struck her as faintly familiar. “What’s your name, boy?”

            “Pluto Black,” the boy replied. He grabbed Blake’s hand and shook it vigorously. “Of the smithing Blacks. It’s awful nice to meet you, but I have to go do stuff for my da!” He dashed off.

            Blake shook her head, smiling. She turned and continued her hunt. A block further, and she reached her destination—the Raven’s Foot Pub. Unlike most of the city’s gray stone structures, the pub was built from a reddish rock. The door and the trim on the windows were painted a garish green. It all seemed a bit conspicuous for the hideout of a King of Thieves, but Blake decided that there was some piece of this thief king puzzle that she just did not have yet.

            For a moment, she paused before the door, steeling herself. _As long as he’s not like Adam_ , she thought. Then she turned the knob.


	6. The Royal Test

            Every muscle in her body tense, Weiss sat stiffly upright in the carriage. Every rut in the road jarred her spine, but she could not relax.

            Winter smiled sympathetically. “You’ll do fine, Weiss. Don’t worry.”

            “How can you say that, Winter?” Weiss asked. “Father says that I’m nowhere near as good with my sword as you are, and I can’t summon at all yet.”

            “But your skill with glyphs has developed nicely,” Winter reassured her. “Play to your strengths. You’re smart, Weiss. You’ll be fine.”

            “But what if I fail, Winter?”

            “Stop it!” Winter snapped. “You are a Schnee, Weiss. Failure is not an option. You will not fail.”

            White-hot anger flashed in Weiss’s gut, but she bit her tongue. “Yes, Winter.” They rode on in silence, Winter gazing at her sister thoughtfully, Weiss carefully avoiding her sister’s eyes.

            After half an hour of unremitting torture, the carriage pulled up in front of the Royal Amphitheater. Their driver opened the carriage door, letting in a shaft of red light from the setting sun, and Pyrrha appeared to help the princesses out of the carriage.

            “Thank you, Pyrrha,” Winter said, giving the soldier a cool nod.

            Weiss just smiled tightly as Pyrrha handed her down, too nervous to speak. “Good luck, your Highness,” Pyrrha said quietly. “I believe in you.” She squeezed Weiss’s hand briefly before letting go and smiled warmly. “Thank you,” Weiss rasped. She walked on down the garden-enclosed path to the amphitheater and through the imposing blackstone door.

            Weiss was used to grandeur and elegance and generally unaffected by lavish architecture, but the amphitheater always filled her with awe. She took in the gothic arches, the wide lobby, the flying buttresses, and the vast openness of the stadium with fresh eyes every time she saw it. The Royal Amphitheater was a gorgeous, glorious building, the crowning achievement of her grandfather’s reign; it intended to awe, and it succeeded.

            Instead of heading directly into the stadium itself, as she usually did when coming to view a play or fencing match with her family, Weiss left Winter in the lobby and unlocked a small creaky door leading to a smaller side passage to the left of the stadium entrance. There were several ways to get to the stage itself. This way was the one traditionally taken by those about to face the Royal Test.

            Weiss replaced the key on the white ribbon around her neck and walked slowly down the damp, chilly passageway. The walls were close, and the ceiling was low. Weiss shivered slightly in the cold and tugged her stiff combat skirt farther down to cover her knees. She wondered how Winter, who was by a good foot the taller sister, had managed the walk through the low-ceilinged passage.

            Her thoughts turned to Winter’s test. Winter had faced seven adult beowolves, alone. She had managed to defeat them by summoning an army of ursai and using them and also her glyphs, twin swords, and combat grade dust in skillful concert with one another. She had performed magnificently, as usual, and had been praised by all of their teachers and both of their parents. Still, she had barely made it through the test alive, having sustained a serious injury to her torso that five years later still left a scar.

            If even Winter had barely survived her test, Weiss could not imagine how she would make it through her own.

            After an eternity of walking, Weiss reached the rough wooden door at the end of the passageway. She took a deep breath and murmured, “You are a _Schnee_.” She closed her eyes. Opened them. And opened the door.

            She stepped onto the immense stage, ignoring the silent crowd that had come to watch. Her family was there, of course, and all of the other noble families of the realm of Remnant who lived near enough to the capital city to attend. She did not wish to see them.

            Customarily, the audience was required to remain silent for the duration of the Royal Test. Only the King or Queen could break the silence. No gasps of pity were allowed, or shrieks, or bursts of applause. Weiss herself had watched Winter’s trial with her hands clasped firmly over her lips, stifling screams. She knew that if she looked out now, she might see another young girl with her hands screwed over her mouth. She did not want to.

            The stage was dark, with only the light of the newly risen moon making sight possible. Weiss peered through the darkness, searching for her opponent.

            Something stirred on the opposite end of the stage, and Weiss gasped. She had expected her opponent to be some form of grimm, as was customary. But this was no grimm.

            The thing rose to its full height, and Weiss beheld a massive automaton, armed with an equally massive longsword. With just one step, it crossed nearly half the stage.

            The thing swung, and Weiss flipped out of the way.

            Terror gripped her gut, but Weiss forced it out of her face. _I am a Schnee_. Her brain slipped into the calculations for which years of training had prepared it. She plotted trajectories, planned where to place her glyphs. Struck the automaton, but it was massive. She was merely an annoying fly to it, not a real threat.

            _Think. Play to your strengths, Weiss._

            No matter how many glyphs she cast, the automaton blocked at least half of her strikes. No matter how many strikes she landed, the automaton didn’t seem to take any substantial damage. Weiss’s brain felt as though it were burning out; she could barely keep up the mental effort required to plot her standard attack pattern glyphs; her aura was fading fast; it was becoming increasingly clear that she needed to come up with an entirely new strategy.

_What are my strengths?_

            Weiss was agile and did well dodging and twisting out of the way of her opponent, but the thing managed to land a good blow that sent Weiss sprawling backward. She felt blood running down her face over her left eye.

            _I am not going to die today._

            Weiss stood and activated the dust capsules on her sword. Adrenaline pumping through her veins, her brain finally made the last leap to her solution. She knew what she had to do.

            Using a red dust capsule, she blocked a blow that would have split her in half, then struck not at the automaton but instead at the floor, creating a streaking horizontal column of ice that grew rapidly across the ground and froze the automaton’s feet to the floor. She dashed forward, leaped, found herself on the thing’s sword. She soared and struck, disarming her opponent.

            She plotted out a final series of glyphs and cast them, blinking blood out of her eye as she did so. Then she made her final charge, struck a final blow that resonated through glyphs placed at the automaton’s joints, and at last destroyed the thing.

            Weiss landed crouching on the stage and stood. She stared out at her silent audience for a moment, unblinking as the blood dried on her cheek. Then, she curtsied.

            She heard one lone member of the audience clapping and searched them out.

            It was her father.


	7. Cookies

            Ruby could not stop eating the cookies.

            After they had arrived at the Raven’s Foot, a sort of pub and inn that Yang said was like her headquarters, she’d asked Ruby to hang out in the restaurant part of the building until she got done taking care of business and could show Ruby around the city, asked a waitress to bring Ruby some cookies, and taken Dad, Uncle Qrow, and Uncle Qrow’s two friends upstairs. Ruby and Zwei the corgi, seated next to each other near a window overlooking the city’s busy main road, polished off three plates of cookies each in short order (chocolate chip for Ruby, bacon-flavored for Zwei).

            The waitress, a slender faunus with long brown hair, rabbit ears, and a soft, slightly accented voice, came by to check if they needed any more cookies as they worked on their fourth plate. “I’m glad you’re enjoying them so much,” she said, laughing softly.

            “These cookies are amazing!” Ruby said happily. Zwei barked in agreement. Ruby looked around the restaurant; there weren’t any other patrons in the building, as far as she could see. “My name’s Ruby. What’s yours?”

            The waitress sat down on the bench across the table from Ruby. “My name’s Velvet. It’s nice to meet you.” The waitress held out her hand for Ruby to shake. “You’re Yang’s sister?”

            Ruby nodded. “Well, half-sister, I guess,” she amended. “So, is this like a public restaurant, or a super-secret headquarters, or…?”

            “It’s both,” Velvet said, “if you’re willing to compromise a little on the ‘super-secret’ part. The King of Thieves takes in extra revenue from the restaurant, and the upper floor serves as an audience chamber.”

            “Oooooh,” Ruby said. “So, are you a thief?”

            Velvet smiled. “No. I just work here because it’s one of the only places in the city that will hire a faunus.”

            “Oh,” Ruby said. “That seems silly.”

            Velvet shrugged. “People can be. Silly, I mean.”

            “So, what does the King of Thieves do?” Ruby asked. “Does she, like, steal cookie recipes?”

            “The King of Thieves is sort of the person who keeps the criminal underground in check,” Velvet explained. “She collects bribes to pay the city guardsmen from establishments that engage in minor illegal activity, like gambling houses and such. And she helps the police with murder investigations, and such.”

            Ruby ate another four cookies thoughtfully. “Does Yang steal stuff?”

            “Trade secret, I’m afraid,” Velvet replied.

            “Why doesn’t she get arrested?”

            “The King is too useful to the guardsmen to be arrested, and too powerful,” Velvet said. “They’re underpaid and understaffed. As long as the King doesn’t go too far and helps them when they ask, they’re willing to let her get away with quite a lot.” Velvet helped herself to one of the cookies. “It’s not like that in every city, but that’s about how it goes here. Besides, the guardsmen love our cookies.”

            “Every city has a King?” Ruby asked. “We didn’t in Patch.”

            “The big cities do,” Velvet said. She started to say something else, but at that moment two teens in uniform burst into the restaurant.

            “ARE THOSE COOKIES?” the shorter of the two asked. Both wore black leather jerkins over black tunics and black pants; the shorter one accented the ensemble with bright pink gauntlets and a large pink and white war hammer, while the taller wore a green belt from which hung twin green knives.

            “They are,” Velvet said. She stood to greet the pair. “Ruby, this is Nora Valkyrie of the Common Guard, and this is her partner, Lie Ren.”

            “Hiya, Ruby!” Nora said. She sat down next to Velvet on the bench and helped herself to two cookies. “IS THAT A DOGGIE?” Cookie crumbs flew from Nora’s mouth as she scooped up Zwei and scratched his ears, giggling as he licked her face and sniffed at her bright orange hair.

            Ren made his way slowly to the table and cautiously eased himself down next to Nora.

            “So, you two solve mysteries and beat up criminals and stuff?” Ruby asked.

            “We sure do!” Nora said, putting the dog down to free up her hands for more cookie-eating. “We beat up everything!” Nora grinned maniacally.

            “Only criminals,” Ren reassured Ruby.

            “If we can find a Huntsman to apprentice us, then we’re going to become Huntsmen. And then we’ll beat up grimm, too!” Nora said.

            “I want to be a Huntress, too!” Ruby said excitedly.

            “Good luck,” Nora said. “It’s really hard to get an apprenticeship, especially with the King and Queen talking about requiring Huntsmen to get licensed. Not the King, like, Yang, the King, but, like, the King King. And the Queen. They’re saying that Huntsmen are too dangerous to be allowed to operate independently so they’re saying they need to be regulated and they need to swear loyalty to the Crown but most Huntsmen don’t want to do that so they’re going underground and what if they all disappear and then there will be no one to stop the grimm and—” Nora paused for breath and Ren patted her on the back.

            “I’m sure it won’t come to that,” he said.

            Ruby frowned. “What would the Huntsmen swearing loyalty to the King and Queen do, anyway?” she asked. “It doesn’t seem like that should change anything. It’s just words, right?”

            Nora and Ren exchanged glances. “It’s complicated,” Ren said.

            “And it’s more than just loyalty they really want,” Nora said. “They want all Huntsmen to agree to serve the Crown first, but most Huntsmen want to serve all people equally. And there are rumors that in Atlas—” Nora broke off again as the door opened and a group of what appeared to be masons and carpenters in their twenties walked into the restaurant, laughing and joking loudly. Velvet stood to fetch food and drink for the newcomers.

            “—bad things are happening,” Nora finished, leaning across the table and whispering into Ruby’s ear.

            “Oh,” Ruby said. “Why don’t the Huntsmen stop them?”

            Before Nora could reply again, a voice said, “Excuse me, is this where I can find the King of Thieves?”

            Ruby looked over Nora’s shoulder and saw a black-haired girl with burning gold eyes who must have followed the rowdy bunch of builders into the restaurant.

            “Sure, she’s upstairs,” Ruby said, pointing to the stairwell.

            The girl stared at Ruby for a moment, then nodded. “Thank you,” she said. She walked to the back of the restaurant and up the stairs.

            “Hope she’s not an assassin,” Nora said casually, eating another cookie.

            “Assassin?” Ruby squeaked. She jumped up to follow the girl. “Be right back!” She dashed to the stairs, Zwei on her heels.

            “Have fun!” Nora called. “Be safe!”

            “Don’t you think perhaps we should follow them? Just in case?” Ren asked.

            “Nah,” Nora said. “These cookies are too good to just abandon here. Besides, did you see the size of that scythe on her back? She’ll be fine.”


	8. The King's Court

            The upper floor of the Raven’s Foot was decorated in what Yang liked to think of as a “comfortable” style. Cushioned armchairs of various colors, styles, and ages were strewn about among similarly mismatched tables, and various lamps and candles were spread about throughout the room. The flooring was a handsome dark wood, and Yang had found a large golden-yellow rug to lay on the floor. The walls she had papered partly with a pale purple paper she had found in a garbage dump in the southern sector of the city, partly with a brown paper she had borrowed from a friend in the decorating business.

            The previous King of Thieves had had the walls painted black and had furnished the room with hard, plain wooden tables and chairs. This had not pleased Yang, and she had gone to great lengths to fix things.

            As Yang had settled into her new role as King over the past few weeks, the freshly redecorated audience room had generally helped Yang feel comfortable and relaxed, even when dealing with some of the most stubborn and dangerous criminals in the city. Now, however, faced with her own father and uncle, Yang felt intensely uncomfortable and not a little unsure of herself.

            “Yang, you’re only 18,” Taiyang was saying. His brow was furrowed. “I know that you’re an experienced street brawler, and I know that you’ve got a good bit of common sense. But the city has never had a King this young before.”

            “We ain’t gonna be able to bail you out if you get yourself in a tight spot,” Qrow said, not unkindly. “This is a dangerous line of work you’re getting yourself into, Yang.”

“How do you think I got the position?” Yang asked hotly. “By batting my eyes and asking pretty please?”

            “So you punched your way to the top. You’re gonna need more than fists to stay there, kiddo,” Qrow replied.

            “Look, Uncle Qrow, my mom had already finished her Huntress apprenticeship by the time she was 16,” Yang said tightly. “I can handle this.”

            “Yeah, she had. And look where that got her,” Qrow said darkly.

            Ironwood cleared his throat. “If we can interject, there are a few things that the Crown and the Huntsmen would like to ask of you.”

            Qrow rolled his eyes. “Here we go…” He took a drink from his flask and sat back.

            “First, the Crown would like written confirmation that you intend to continue providing the customary aid to the Guards—assisting with murder cases, paying… erm… bonuses to the guardsmen, and so on,” Ironwood began.

            “Alright, I can give them that,” Yang said warily. _I don’t like where this is going,_ she thought.

            “Additionally, the Crown wants you to report any information you might hear about anything looking like preparations for war to the Captain of the Guard.”

            Yang frowned. “Who’s going to war?”

            “No one, yet,” Ironwood said. “And we’d like to keep things that way.” He shifted uncomfortably in his seat.

            “I don’t think I would have a problem doing that,” Yang said slowly. She had no real intention of reporting any such information, but she saw no reason to irritate their Majesties with that information. Her eyes bored into Ironwood’s, burning violet meeting icy blue. “What else?”

            “Finally, for now,” Ironwood said, “the Crown is intending to pass a law prohibiting the gathering of more than three faunus at any time without human supervision. They would like to have your word that you will cooperate in any and all efforts to enforce the law.”

            “No. Absolutely not,” Yang said flatly.

            Ironwood looked, Yang thought, faintly relieved, although he kept his face nearly expressionless. “Very well,” he said. “Glynda?”

            “I don’t know why Ironwood doesn’t just tell you everything and have done with it,” Goodwitch said. “There’s talk of revolt in several regions of Remnant,” she continued bluntly. “Some regions are talking secession, and it’s likely that we will be facing a civil war in the near future.”

            Yang nodded. “Yeah, some of my people have been hearing rumors like that for a while.”

            “What the Crown is going to want from you and every other King of Thieves in Remnant, as well as every Huntsman in Remnant, is a pledge of absolute loyalty. They won’t get it from many of the Huntsmen. The Huntsmen are picking sides, and not many of them are picking the Crown’s.”

            “Unofficially, I can say that I don’t blame them. The Schnees have had a long and repressive reign, persecuting the faunus and monopolizing the dust industry,” Ironwood said. “Still, I would prefer to avoid violent conflict at all costs.” He and Goodwitch exchanged sharp looks. Yang thought the Huntress did not quite agree with the General.

            “Yang, the Huntsmen would like to warn you. You are going to have to make decisions that no King of Thieves has had to make in living memory. And if you decide poorly, you will die.”

            Yang nodded grimly. “And? What do you want from me?”

            Goodwitch sighed. “Essentially, we want the same thing from you that the Crown does, minus any oaths of loyalty. We want information.”

            Yang nodded again. “The same sort of information that the crown wants? Or…?”

            “That and more,” Goodwitch said. “We also want recommendations from you. We want you to point out people that you believe to be good candidates for apprenticeships to Huntsmen. We have been… rather remiss in seeking out new candidates these past few decades, and our numbers are far fewer than they ought to be.”

            “I’ll do it,” Yang said.

            Qrow started to say something but was suddenly and violently interrupted by the door to the audience room banging open and a swirl of rose petals sweeping through the room.

            A tiny girl wielding a gigantic red scythe appeared out of the petals. “STAND BACK, IN THE NAME OF THE… KING!” Ruby squeaked. She planted herself firmly between Yang and the door.

            In the doorway stood a girl with long black hair, intense gold eyes, and a wiry frame. For a moment, Yang felt as though the breath had been knocked out of her. _Dust, she’s gorgeous,_ she thought.

            The girl, meanwhile, looked decidedly nonplussed. “Is… is this the King’s audience chamber?” she asked. Her voice was as smooth as silk. Yang shivered.

            “ARE YOU HERE TO ASSASSINATE THE KING?!?” Ruby demanded.

            The girl cocked a slender black eyebrow. “No. I’m here to ask him to hire me. Are you his guard dog?” A touch of amusement crinkled the corners of her eyes.

            “Oh! No, I’m her sister,” Ruby said. “If you just want her to hire you, she’s right over there.” Ruby pointed at Yang.

            Yang stood hastily and grinned. “The King of Thieves, here in the flesh.” She bowed. “What service would you do me?”

            “Might want to watch your words there, kiddo,” Qrow muttered. Grin fixed firmly in place, Yang stomped on his toe.

            “I’m stealthy and good with my weapon,” the girl said. “I can act as a bodyguard, or a search and retrieval specialist, or a spy.”

            “I think I could use all three of those,” Yang said. “You’re hired!”

            The girl cocked her head to the side. “You don’t even know my name.”

            Yang’s grin broadened. “You can tell me, but it might not be your real name, you know? So I’ll just have my people find out who you are, and that’ll save the trouble of me asking and you lying.”

            The girl shook her head and smiled. “Your people won’t find anything about me. My name is Blake Belladonna.” She extended her hand for Yang to shake.

            “Yang Xiao Long,” Yang replied, taking Blake’s hand. On a whim, she raised the hand to her lips and kissed it. “Go ahead and head downstairs, and Velvet will get you settled in a room and filled in on anything you’ll need to know around here.”

            Blake nodded and left after a final sharp look at all of the occupants of the room.

            As she left, Zwei finally made it to the top of the steps, panting hard. Ruby scooped him up and spun him around, then hugged him.

            Ironwood and Goodwitch stood. “I think we’re done here,” Goodwitch said. “Yang, we’ll be in touch. For now, report any information you wish to share with the Huntsmen to your Uncle Qrow.”

            “And report any information you wish to share with the Crown to Guardsman Port,” Ironwood said, frowning.

            Qrow stood as well. “I’ll be around, kiddo,” he said, ruffling Yang’s hair. “Right now, I’ve got to go have a talk with this Belladonna, make sure she’s not planning to kill my niece.” He started toward the door, then turned. “Taiyang, you’d better have a talk of your own with Yang… From the looks of things, it’s about time you filled her in about the birds and the bees and such.” He winked and sauntered out the door.

            Yang felt her face get hot and knew that her father’s blond-and-scarlet visage was a near perfect mirror of her own.


	9. Letters From Home

            _All for my country, none for myself_.

            The words, emblazoned above the doorway to the armory, had always filled Pyrrha Nikos with a mixture of pride and loneliness. She paused, running her fingers over the carved stone, then shook her head at her own sentimentality and passed into the armory.

            The room was empty, as she had expected. Few were the soldiers of the Royal Guard who would busy themselves about the armory two hours to midnight, between watches and after all the day’s exercises had come to an end.

            Pyrrha stooped before the locked cupboard allotted to her and opened it, placing the javelin and hoplon she carried inside. She did not remove her armor, however; she preferred to keep it near her at all times. She also kept a small dagger bound to her hip. Pyrrha was not paranoid, but she was cautious, and she misliked the idea of coming across a gang of street criminals unarmed.

            Leaving the armory, Pyrrha walked down a bricked path to the gate of the outer wall of the Schnee palace. Nodding to the guards, she walked out and away to the heart of the city, where she rented a small apartment.

            The grey buildings of the city glowed a dusky burgundy in the hot twilight of summer. Pyrrha exchanged pleasantries with a withered old man who sold thick meat pasties at a stall on a street corner between her apartment and the palace. She bought two pasties and continued on, relishing the relative quiet of the twilit city.

            After about a quarter hour of walking, Pyrrha reached the building where she rented two small rooms. She passed her landlady, tidying the sitting room to the right of the entryway of the building. She wished the woman good evening and continued to the back of the building, mounting a dark and narrow staircase to the fourth floor.

            The two rooms to which fifty coppers a month entitled Pyrrha were furnished after the fashion of the Spartans, with a rough wooden table, single chair, squat wood burning stove, and wash basin in the front room and a narrow bed with a small side table and crude square of glass hung above it in the back. A stack of coarse paper, two battered quills and a pot of ink, and two worn books sat on the table.

            Bare and rough though they were, the rooms were clean, and Pyrrha liked them.

            She had taken the two small attic rooms because they also gave her access to the roof of the building. A door in the north wall of her front room let out onto a niche between the two peaks of the building’s roof. With her first month’s pay in the Royal Guard, she had bought wood and nails and fenced off the niche. Over the next few months, Pyrrha had built a small garden there on the roof, and in the evenings if she hadn’t been assigned the night watch she would take a book borrowed from one of the city’s libraries and sit in her garden and read.

            This evening, however, as Pyrrha stepped out into the garden, a raven swooped over her head and into her apartment. Pyrrha turned and headed back in after it, closing the door behind her.

            “I wasn’t expecting you for at least another week,” Pyrrha told the raven. The raven, perched on her table, cocked its head to the side. Pyrrha untied a letter from its back and took a handful of dried corn from a box under the table and set it before the bird.

            The raven and its letter had come from her younger sister Aileen. The two had been close as girls, and they had continued a fairly regular correspondence after Pyrrha left home for the city. Still, neither had time to write as regularly as either might have wished, and Pyrrha was surprised that another letter had come so soon; she herself had sent a letter not three nights before.

            As Pyrrha perused the letter, however, she began to understand why Aileen had written her response so quickly.

            Their father, Lord Radcliffe of House Nikos, was a vassal of the Schnees of moderate importance. The Nikos family held lands rather far to the south of the city of Vale but only a few days’ ride from the sprawling metropolis of Mistral; they were lands warmed by the sun and good for the growing of grapes and olive trees, nestled on the shore of one of the smaller salt seas of Remnant. Many holdings in the kingdom were much larger and far fairer, but still the Nikos holdings were no trifle.

            Pyrrha’s father had married Tabitha of House Thracaea, a kind, quiet third daughter of an ambitious second son of a Lord. The two had been very happy together, as far as Pyrrha could recall, but Tabitha had died giving birth to her second child when Pyrrha was only five. Pyrrha could still remember hearing her father’s sobs the night of her mother’s death; it was the only time she had heard him cry. But he had not cried in front of her, and he had done his best to master his grief and care for his daughters and his lands. His best, in fact, had been quite excellent, and the Nikos lands and the two Nikos daughters had flourished.

            In time, Lord Radcliffe had fallen in love again, this time with a knight of the Order of the Grey-Eyes named Daan Mendaris. The two had married when Pyrrha was 13, and, after a period of childish resentment of the new addition to the family, Pyrrha had grown to love and trust her new parent well. Little Aileen had been delighted with the man who told her exciting bedtime stories of his adventures as a knight and carved small wooden horses and dragons for her to play with. Pyrrha’s memories of the final years of her childhood were happy ones.

            When Pyrrha had turned 16, she had decided to move to the Kingdom’s capital and join the Guard, with hopes of eventually becoming part of the Royal Guard. Lord Radcliffe had not wanted to let her go; Vale was too far away and too dangerous. In the end, however, Daan had convinced him that Pyrrha could take care of herself and that she should be allowed to make her own choices, being practically a woman grown. And Pyrrha had done well in Vale, and she knew that her lord father was proud of her.

            In leaving, Pyrrha had renounced her inheritance and future ladyship, passing the birthright on to Aileen. Aileen was clever and strong, and moreover she was interested in all of the tasks involved in running an estate and governing surrounding lands. She would do well as Lady Nikos. At the time, Radcliffe, Daan, Pyrrha, and Aileen had all been pleased with that decision.

            Now, however, Aileen was telling Pyrrha things that made Pyrrha wonder, though but briefly, if she had made the right choice after all. Sir Daan had been away from home dealing with unrest in the southern parts of the Nikos lands, and while he was gone Lord Radcliffe had fallen seriously ill. The running of the estate had been left to the elderly steward and 13-year-old Aileen, who was responsible and bright but, after all, still a child. Pyrrha was certain that Aileen would be keeping up a strong appearance at home, but in her letter she sounded like the overwhelmed and nervous little girl that she likely felt herself to be. She had sent Pyrrha an enormous list of questions about everything from the proper method of preparing a meal to the kindest and fairest manner of dealing with townsfolk seeking their lord’s aid.

            Pyrrha was exhausted and wanted sleep badly, but she told herself that her sister came first, and so she pulled some sheets of paper towards her, unstoppered her bottle of ink, dipped a pen, and began composing her response. She smiled tiredly at some of the questions her sister had asked— _how does one train a cat?_ was on the list—but answered each one seriously and as well as she could.

            After Pyrrha finally finished off her letter and attached it to the patiently waiting raven nearly three hours later, her thoughts turned from Aileen to Weiss, the tart-tongued little princess. Weiss could be cold, snobbish, and snappy, and Aileen was rarely any of those things. But Pyrrha saw a pride and nobility in Weiss that reminded her of her sister, and her heart ached for the princess as well as Aileen. She had watched Weiss’s Test earlier that day with her hands clenched so tightly, she had had difficulty relaxing the fists once the ordeal was finished.

            Pyrrha sighed and shook her head. If she sat up writing letters of advice or thinking about distressing things any longer, she would fall asleep on the job the next day, and Captain Port would lecture her until nightfall. She undressed, blew out her candle, and climbed into bed, slipping into unconsciousness with all the ease of exhaustion.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Honestly not super happy about how this one turned out. I mean, I know what I wanted this chapter to accomplish, and in my mind it does the things, but the language is awkward. If any of y'all offer suggestions, I will probably make edits.


	10. Out of the Court of the King

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this update is a bit late! I wanted to edit it more, but I'm a lazy lollygagger who is really bad at being productive after work so I just kept putting it off. I haven't edited it more. Here it is, in the rough. I may go back and tweak it later.
> 
> Also, a heads-up: this chapter is where the motif of institution vs. agency in the form of violence starts to show up, specifically in the form of child abuse.

            _“I’m not going!”_

            Weiss stormed angrily out of the King’s audience chamber, ignoring her sister’s startled exclamations and her mother’s irritated _Weiss!_. She stalked down the long white marble passageway, blindly headed toward the staircase leading to her rooms.

            Heavy footsteps sounded behind her, and, growling in exasperation, Weiss whirled about to meet her father. Her head snapped back around as he struck her across the face with the back of his hand.

            He glared at her, his ice-blue eyes hard as flint. Weiss spit blood and stared back defiantly.

            “You have no say in the matter, Weiss. You _will_ attend the Atlesian military academy.”

            “And then what? Come back home and do tricks for you like a trained dog?”

            Weiss’s head snapped the other way as her father hit her again on the other cheek. She could feel her face burn as the cut over her eye reopened.

            “Schnees founded that academy long ago, Weiss. And every Schnee has attended that academy since.”

            “And what will I do when I come home? Ride on Schnee family coattails to a cushy position in the Royal Army? I don’t want that. Father, you know I don’t want that.”

            The King was flushed an angry red (or maybe, Weiss thought, it was just the blood in her eye). “To think, I felt _proud_ of you after your Test. Weiss, this childish petulance is hardly fitting for a Schnee. I am ashamed to call you my daughter.” The King paused, grinding his teeth. “You should have died instead of Riechiev.” With that, the King turned on his heel and strode away.

            Weiss stayed where she was, staring after him blankly. The words hurt even worse than the slaps. She could feel a gnawing emptiness in her gut, and the stinging over her eye and through cuts in her mouth, and a warmth where the blood was spreading down her face.

            Her mother and sister approached. She heard them dimly, as if from a great distance. They blurred in and out of focus, wavering. Weiss was vaguely aware of her mother speaking calmly but disapprovingly, her sister gently blotting away the blood with a handkerchief.

            Weiss blinked rapidly, then shoved her sister away. “I’m _fine_ ,” she snapped.

            “Weiss, don’t—”

            “I don’t need your _help_.” Weiss ran down the hallway, up the stairs, to her room, blinking furiously to clear the tears from her eyes.

            Once she reached her room, Weiss slammed her door shut and sank down onto her bed, sobbing. Blood and tears mixed and ran onto the fine pale blue silk of her sheets, but Weiss couldn’t bring herself to move off the bed. Eventually, she cried herself to sleep.

            When Weiss woke, her face felt stiff. She touched it and felt dried blood. Her room was dark and heavy with night. She felt her way slowly and carefully to her ivory washbasin.

            After she had scrubbed her face, lit a candle, and changed her bloodied court gown for a fresh combat uniform, Weiss pulled out a blanket and began pulling clothes and books and dust cartridges out of drawers, tossing them all onto the fabric. Her things made a sorry jumble; Weiss was used to having servants pack everything for her when she traveled with her family. Of course, they had the advantage of being able to pack into a trunk rather than a blanket. Weiss didn’t think she could manage a trunk on the run, even with her glyphs, and princesses escaping from towers in the stories her nurse had told her when she was young had often wrapped their things in a blanket, so it seemed like a reasonable choice. However, getting the bundle packed up was significantly more difficult than Weiss had imagined it to be. After several failed attempts, she shouted in frustration and fell to her knees in the midst of the mess. She was determined not to cry again, but she desperately wanted to.

            A knock sounded at her door, and Weiss jumped up to stand at attention. The door opened, and her mother entered. Weiss cleared her throat and shifted awkwardly from foot to foot. The Queen raised her eyebrows at the mess on the floor, but she did not remark on it.

            “So,” she said.

            Weiss bit her lip nervously, then winced in pain. “Say what you have to, Mother.”

            “I don’t think that you should go to Atlas.”

            Weiss started. “Why not?”

            “You’re not strong enough yet. The Academy would ruin you.”

            At this, Weiss blanched and grimaced. She hoped her mother had not said as much to her father. Such reasoning would only make him more certain that she must go.

            “Furthermore…” the Queen trailed off, as if weighing her words carefully. She sighed, then sat heavily on a clean bit of Weiss’s bed. “Please sit, Weiss. I want to talk to you.”

            Weiss sat.

            “When I married into this family, I knew that I was welding myself to a cold, hard man sprung from cold, hard forbears.” The Queen smiled faintly, though the smile did not reach her stern grey eyes. “I fancied myself cold and hard. Well… I am now.”

            Weiss nodded.

            “There is much that I admire about the Schnees—their ambition, their strength. You are a Schnee, and you do have some of that about you, though you are young and immature.”

            Weiss nodded again.

            “And, as I said, you are not strong enough for the academy.”

            Weiss could think of no other response than nodding.

            “You and your sister have also inherited the traits I admire most about the Schnees… your sense of honor and duty… you’re two of the best of the Schnees, I think…”

            Weiss leaned forward suddenly and sniffed. She had not heard her mother talk this way in a long time. Weiss suspected that she might be slightly drunk.

            “The only thing you have that Winter doesn’t, I think, Weiss… the possibility for change.”

            The smell of wine was definitely strong on her. Weiss wondered how she hadn’t noticed it before.

            “Being tough, stiff, unyielding… can be noble, but the unbendable will break. You can bend, Weiss. Unless they stiffen you up at the Academy…”

            Weiss felt intensely uncomfortable. This was not the way her mother talked.

            “I will speak with your father and convince him to delay your enrollment for a year. In the meantime, we will find a different place for you.”

            Weiss nodded jerkily.

            “I have an idea… Weiss, do you remember the stories that I used to have your nurse read to you when you were small?”

            “Of course I do, Mother.” The words wrenched out of Weiss. The faint edge on them went unnoticed by the intoxicated Queen, for which Weiss was grateful.

            “I think I know what we will do with you.” The Queen nodded abruptly, then stood. As unfocused as the wine was turning her mentally, she remained steady on her feet. “I think I know.” Her eyes snapped back to Weiss, and she seemed almost surprised to discover that she was in a room with her child. “Well. That’s that, then. Goodnight, Daughter.”

            The Queen left, shutting the door none too gently behind her. Weiss collapsed back on her bed.

            “It doesn’t make any sense,” she said to the ceiling. A voice in her head that sounded remarkably like Winter’s told her not to be daft; obviously her mother’s drunken ramblings made little sense; and who was she, Weiss, talking to, anyway?

            Confused, exhausted, and hurting, Weiss slowly drifted off to sleep. As she slept, she dreamed, of stern men and hard women and blood as red as roses.


	11. Qrow and the Terrible, Horrible, No Good, Very Bad Day

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Iteration number two of the motif-- government-sponsored armed enforcers vs civilians. Good lord, I'm pretentious. I am sorry (but not sorry enough to delete the pretentious pre-chapter notes themselves, I guess).
> 
> Also, there are some swears in this one. So I finally changed the rating from "Teen" to "Mature."

            _I need a drink_.

            Qrow had spent three hours interrogating Blake Belladonna and had learned nothing.

            Qrow had spent the night sharing a room in the inn section of Yang’s headquarters with old stick-up-his-ass Jimmy Ironwood.

            Qrow had spent breakfast listening to Glynda and Jimmy bicker over whether or not Hunters ought to wear a uniform.

            And, worst of all, Qrow had wrapped up breakfast by emptying his flask only to have Yang inform him that he was not allowed to have any alcohol from her establishment until _after_ he and Taiyang and Glynda and Jimmy got Ruby to Ozpin.

            “I don’t want you to be drunk when Ruby’s trying to make a good first impression on the Huntsman,” Yang had said.

            “Hey, I can hold my alcohol just fine!” Qrow had objected.

            Yang had ruffled his hair and grinned. “Not without a flask, you can’t!” And she had cheerily waved his flask in the air and headed out the door with the new hire to take care of some business around the city.

            “Damn thieves,” Qrow had grumbled. He had to admit, Yang was pretty good at the thievery thing. He hadn’t felt or seen a thing when she filched the flask from him.

            And now Qrow and the others were riding through the city toward the University to talk to Ozpin.

            It was hot. Qrow had a headache. He needed a drink.

            There were far too many people in the city, and every single one of them was making far too much noise. The only noisy person who didn’t bother him was Ruby. She was prattling along next to him, which could’ve been annoying, but damn it, the kid was just so bubbly and happy. And she was excited about meeting old Oz.

            Zwei had been left behind with Velvet. The kid seemed a bit nervous around the dog at first, but they warmed up to each other pretty quickly.

            If Zwei had come with them, he might have been the first to notice the disturbance. As Zwei was in absence, it fell on Qrow to be the one to see it first.

            “Hey! Just what does he think he’s doing?” Qrow said to Ruby, cutting her off in the middle of a story about Zwei eating Yang’s hairbrush, gesturing down an alleyway toward a stocky youth dressed in the black of the Common Guard under a set of plate armor. The guardsman appeared to be threatening a pair of young fox faunus, brother and sister by the looks of it, the older of which appeared to be at least two years younger than Ruby. The guardsman carried a hefty mace and wore studded gauntlets. As Qrow watched, the man hit the girl across the face with the back of his armored hand.

            “Hey!” Ruby echoed. She vaulted off her horse and started pushing her way through the traffic running along the road toward the alley.

            Qrow snagged her horse’s reins and tossed them and his own at Ironwood, shouting, “Take these!” He leapt off his horse and followed Ruby. Both struggled to cross through the crowd, moving along a path perpendicular to traffic. The alleyway they were headed toward was on entirely the opposite side of the road, and the road was just too packed with people. Qrow could barely see Ruby ahead of him through the push of the crowd, and he couldn’t see the alley or the kids at all.

            _I could shift,_ Qrow thought, _but there are too many people. Too many people who might know a little too much about me._ He swore and shoved on.

            After five dirty minutes of shoving and cursing, Qrow tumbled out on the other side of the street, nearly stumbling into Ruby’s back as he did.

            As they had crossed, a new player had beat them to the scene, and the tables were turned. A Guardswoman Qrow recognized as Pyrrha Nikos was standing over the guardsman with the mace, brilliant green eyes flashing with anger. The guardsman was on his back, groaning and rubbing his head. His mace was crushed into a useless ball of metal, unrecognizable as a weapon.

            “Cardin Winchester, if I _ever_ catch you brutalizing children again, you will be complaining of far worse than a bumped head and a ruined weapon after I am through with you,” Pyrrha was saying. Her voice shook with anger. “As it is, I will be reporting you to Captain Port for disciplinary action.”

            The guardsman on the ground started to reply, but Ruby decided it was time to make her entrance. “Hello, children, angry lady, bully,” Ruby said, nodding to each in turn. “What goes on here?”

            “These fucking faunus brats were going to steal something from that fruit stand over there,” the guardsman said. “I stopped them and took them to this quiet place for questioning, but then Guardswoman Nikos here… interrupted.” He spit her name out like a curse, glaring up at her from the ground.

            “We were _not!_ ” the girl said. “We have money!” She pulled a pouch from inside her green tunic to show them.

            The anger had faded from Pyrrha’s face as she took in the newcomers. Qrow saw recognition and respect flicker in her eyes as she looked Qrow over.

            “Huntsman Branwen,” she said. “It’s good to see you back in the city.”

            “Yeah, well, hopefully I won’t be here for long,” Qrow said. “Ruby, this is Pyrrha Nikos of the Royal Guard, four-time winner of the Mistral Harvest Tourney. Guardswoman, this is Ruby.”

            “Hello,” Ruby said.

            “We thought we saw some suspicious goings-on over here and were going to investigate, but it looks like you’ve beaten us to it and gotten things under control yourself.” He looked at Pyrrha with a touch of reproach in his eyes. A bit of a fight would have done him good.

            “Sorry,” Pyrrha said apologetically.

            “Nah, better it was you, putting our tax gold to work,” Qrow said. “You need any help cleaning up here?”

            “I should be able to handle getting Cardin back to the barracks just fine,” Pyrrha replied, “but if these two need any help getting anywhere… well… they might like having a Huntsman help them out.”

            The boy’s eyes had gotten huge. “Are you a _real_ Huntsman?” the boy asked.

            “Of course he’s a real Huntsman, look at the size of the weapon he’s carrying,” his older sister replied.

            Qrow groaned internally. He did _not_ need to babysit a couple of pipsqueaks while sober.

            “Sure!” Ruby said. “We’ll take them!”

            Qrow groaned externally.

            “Thank you,” Pyrrha said, smiling. She frowned again and turned back to Cardin. With one hand, she yanked him to his feet; with the other, she fastened some sort of metal restraints around his wrists. “Let’s go, Cardin.”

            “What, you’re going to believe a couple of filthy pieces of faunus trash over me?” Cardin whined. “I don’t care how many people think you’re the shit, you’re just a fucking bitch.”

            “Oops.” Pyrrha dropped Cardin on his face. “Sorry.”

            Cardin groaned.

            “Okay, kids, let’s get out of here,” Qrow said.

            They plowed back through the crowd, Ruby holding the boy’s hand and Qrow holding the girl’s. He glanced down at her a couple of times to make sure she was doing okay. Her little fox ears were pretty damn cute. He scowled, thinking about Cardin Winchester.

            He looked back at Ruby as they went, just to check that she was keeping up. She and the boy were talking to each other excitedly. At some point, she had handed him her scythe (folded up), and she was pointing at various parts with her free hand, apparently explaining how it all worked.

            When they made it back to the horses, only Jimmy remained. “The rest of them went on ahead,” he explained. He glanced at the kids quizzically.

            Qrow shook his head. “I’ll fill you in later. Or… ” He smirked. “I’m sure that Ruby will fill you in on the way to the University. Whether you want her to or not.” He lifted first the boy and then the girl onto his horse and then climbed up behind. “I’m going to get these two home. You two go on ahead.”

            The boy handed the scythe back to Ruby. “Bye, Ruby. I think you’re going to be a really good Huntress.”

            “Aw, thank you!” Ruby replied, grinning. She mounted her own horse. “Goodbye!” She trotted off after Jimmy.

            “Okay, kids, where’s home?” Qrow asked.

            The girl turned around and looked at him with her big, round, sad brown eyes. “Can we go buy our fruit first?”

            Qrow sighed. “Sure. We can go get the fruit first.” He navigated over to the fruit stand, dismounted, and helped the kids down. The pair regarded the fruit solemnly and made their selections with care, occasionally consulting a shopping list.

            The fruit seller regarded the two coldly, but he didn’t protest their use of his fruit stand, and he took their money and packed their fruit into the bag they handed him.

            Qrow got all three of them back on the horse, careful not to smash the sack of fruit, and they were off, the girl giving him directions as they went. The boy wanted to see Qrow’s weapon, too, but Qrow didn’t feel entirely safe letting him play with it on the horse, so he promised that the kid could have a look when they got home.

            The girl directed Qrow into a cramped, run-down part of the southern quarter of the city, one of the faunus ghettoes. She stopped him outside of a precariously leaning apartment building. A tall woman with close-cropped black hair and a perky pair of dog ears was sweeping the small front porch.

            “Mrs. Applewhite!” the girl cried. She hopped down off the horse by herself, stumbling a little, and ran up the steps to the porch to give the woman a hug. Qrow got himself on the ground, tied up his horse at the building’s roadside hitching post, and lifted the boy down. The kid tapped Qrow’s leg and pointed at the scythe, so Qrow pulled his weapon off his back and handed it to the boy, warning him not to press any buttons or pull any levers. He walked up to the porch as the woman eyed him over the head of the girl, who refused to let go.

            “I’m Huntsman Qrow Branwen,” Qrow said unceremoniously. “These two kids got into a bit of a scuffle down by the fruit market. Me and a couple of other people stepped in and helped out.”

            “It was kinda scary,” the girl muttered into the woman’s dress. She finally pulled away, and Qrow noticed that a bruise was welling up across her face where the brute had hit her. She was lucky her face hadn’t been cut open.

            Mrs. Applewhite frowned when she saw the girl’s face. She clucked over it a bit and ran her hand over the injured area, checking for lacerations and looking relieved when she found none. “Run on inside and put your fruit away, Bruna, and then come down to my rooms and I’ll mix up something to put on that bruise of yours.” The girl nodded and started toward the door, ran back, hugged Qrow, whispered “thank you,” and then ran inside.

            “You head inside, too, Kwin,” Mrs. Applewhite said to the boy. “Help your sister with the fruit.”

            “Do I have to?” the boy asked. He was loath to surrender the scythe.

            “Yes,” Mrs. Applewhite said sternly. “Now, go.”

            The boy handed the scythe back to Qrow and also gave him a hug. “Goodbye!” he called, running toward the building.

            Mrs. Applewhite watched him go, then turned back to Qrow. “What happened?” she asked. “Explain to me how exactly my goddaughter’s face got all banged up, if you would be so kind.”

            Qrow obliged, starting from when he had first noticed the altercation and wrapping up with the return of the children to the apartment building.

            By the time he finished, the woman was shaking her head, a deep frown etched across her features. “With all these new anti-faunus laws the Schnees are passing, things just keep getting worse and worse,” the woman said. “I keep telling my renters that we all need to move out to Patch, but somehow we never quite have the money to go.” She sighed. “Well, thank you for bringing the children home safe.”

            Qrow nodded. “No problem.” He started to walk away, then turned. “Hey, you run into more trouble like this, you get in touch with Professor Oobleck at the Vale University. He’ll help you out.”

            The woman nodded. She watched him mount and leave, then went back into her building.

            As he rode away, Qrow reached for his flask and groaned when he discovered it was missing.

            _Damn it all, I need a drink_.


	12. Small Talk and Big Crime

            Yang strutted down the street like she owned it. Which, of course, she did, after a fashion. She collected fees from at least half of the shops on either side of this road.

            Her new hire walked by her side. Silently. Yang had made a couple of attempts at conversation, but each in turn bit the dust. Hard.

            “So, where are you from?”

            Secretive smile.

            “You got any family?”

            Silence. Maybe a touch of sadness about the eyes?

            “You got anyone special? Boyfriend? Girlfriend?”

            Sly smile. That was definitely a sly smile.

            “What do you do for fun?”

            “I like to read.”

            And that was the most that Blake Belladonna had said all morning.

            Yang was relieved when they finally came within sight of their destination: Muldoon’s Bait and Dust, an odd combination fishing supplies-and-dust shop. The shop was in the wealthier part of the city, to the north, and it catered to those who could afford to fish and hunt for leisure rather than from necessity. Merchants with a few extra silvers to rub together or lesser noblemen visiting the city for an audience with the king might make a purchase at the shop and then fish on the hunting grounds maintained by the Schnees just outside the city walls to the north of the palace. The grounds had been created for the Schnees to entertain noble visitors over a century ago, but the current king’s father had decreed that anyone of sufficient stature living or staying in the city could make use of the grounds as well. And so people like Muldoon began setting up shop.

            Muldoon himself was a bit cracked, Yang thought. He mixed dust into his bait, inlaid his fishing poles with dust, spun extra expensive fishing line from dust, and, some said, even experimented with dust clothing for his personal use and dust implants in his own skin. Still, Yang liked him well enough. He had been one of the first shopkeepers to acknowledge her as the new King, and he could tell a funny tale after he’d had a few beers. And so, as soon as Yang heard that he was in trouble, she decided to pay him a visit.

            “Try not to stare at his arm,” Yang said before she knocked.

            “What’s wrong with his arm?” Blake asked.

            Before Yang could reply, the door opened, and a burly man with grizzled once-jet hair and skin like aged leather opened the door. He had laugh lines around his eyes and a scar that pulled up the left corner of his mouth, giving the impression that he was always smiling. Broad, powerful shoulders and muscular arms ended on the right with a large calloused hand and on the left with a piece of intricate machinery. A dust experiment had gone badly many years ago, carving scars into Muldoon’s skin and claiming his left hand. The explosion had only driven Muldoon to experiment more, as he sought to create a dust-driven mechanical replacement for his missing members.

            Blake, to her credit, did not stare. She met the shopkeeper’s eyes resolutely.

            “Yang, it’s always good to see you,” Muldoon rumbled.

            “It’s good to see you, too, Muldoon,” Yang replied. She and the shopkeeper grasped forearms in greeting. “This is my associate, Blake Belladonna.” Yang gestured to Blake, who bowed slightly. Muldoon nodded in return.

            “So, what happened?” Yang peered into the store. “It doesn’t look too banged up.”

            “That’s only because the bastards got in and out all sneaky like while I was sleeping,” Muldoon said. “Come on in and have a look around.”

            Yang and Blake followed Muldoon into the store. “I had Petunia watching the shop for me nights,” Muldoon said. “Wanted to give her something to do so she could earn a little money. Too proud to just take it, and with her tail, she can’t get work most anywhere else. And with her mother sick, her little brothers aren’t doing too well…” Muldoon trailed off, brow furrowed. “Anyway, you can see what’s missing.”

            At first and even second glance, nothing seemed amiss in the shop. Merchandise was still neatly crammed onto shelves and racks, far more than Yang would have imagined to fit into such a small space. The dark wood wainscoting with its gold inlay was untouched. No drawers appeared to have been ransacked, and no tables were overturned.

            But then Yang took a closer look at the merchandise itself, and she gasped.

            All of the fishing poles had been meticulously stripped of their dust inlay.

            Yang walked briskly behind the desk to check the locked drawers where Muldoon kept his pure raw and refined dust for sale.

            Gone.

            Yang looked over the racks more carefully. All of the standard fishing line and bait was undisturbed, but all of the dust line and dust-infused bait—

            Gone.

            Yang turned back to Muldoon, who stood by the desk he usually worked behind while customers shopped.

            “Petunia ran and got me as soon as the gang broke in,” Muldoon said. “Which was smart, she’s just a little thing. She couldn’t have stopped them. Would’ve just gotten hurt if she’d tried. Then, by the time we got back, they were gone.” Muldoon pulled the cash box he kept handy for making change with customers out from under the desk. “The cashbox was broken open, but none of the money was taken,” he said, showing Yang and Blake the box’s picked lock and undisturbed contents. “None of the equipment, none of the regular bait. Just the dust. Every single speck of dust.” He shook his head. “They even took the time to pull all of the dust out of the fishing poles. Left the poles. Took the dust.”

            Blake, who had been examining said poles hanging from the wall across from Muldoon’s desk, turned around. “Did Petunia give you any description of the people who did this?” she asked.

            Muldoon nodded. “She said most of them were pretty average looking, just dark-haired thugs in dark clothing. But their leader was an orange-haired fella. Smoking a cigar and wearing a flashy white coat, she said. And he carried a cane.”

            Blake nodded and turned back to the poles. A shift in her shoulders, maybe an exhalation—Yang thought that Blake was relieved, as though she had been expecting a different response.

            Yang shook her head and turned back to Muldoon. “That doesn’t sound like any of the thieves reporting to me,” she said. “I’m sorry that you lost so much merchandise. I’ll have extra people patrolling this area, and I’ll waive your fees for the next year.”

            Muldoon nodded. “If it wasn’t one of your people that did this, there’s no need to do that, but I’d sure appreciate it,” he said. “Things are getting a little touchy in this city. Business hasn’t been too great.”

            Yang nodded grimly. “I’ve heard plenty about that, trust me.” She sighed and shrugged. “We’ve got some other business to take care of. Let me know if Petunia thinks of anything else, or if anything else happens here.”

            Muldoon nodded again. “Will do.”

            Yang’s expression softened into a smile. “Oh, and say hi to Petunia for me, okay?”

            “I’ll do that, too. Take care, sweetheart.”

            Yang saluted and left the shop. Any other shopkeeper in town called her “sweetheart,” he’d get a good mouthful of her fist, but Muldoon got a free pass on such things.

            Back out on the sun-baked street, Yang turned right and started walking back the way they’d come. “This is the third dust robbery we’ve had in as many months,” Yang said. “The first two, they were dust-only shops that got robbed. No coin stolen, but not much gold or silver to steal at either place. Could’ve been just regular robberies. This, though…”

            “Someone’s trying to clear out the city’s dust,” Blake said.

            Yang looked at the other girl. “Do you know anything about this? Maybe have a suspicion about who might be doing this?”

            Blake was silent for several minutes before answering. “No. I don’t.”

            Yang frowned, but she said nothing. She instinctively trusted this girl and liked her, but Blake clearly didn’t trust Yang, and she wasn’t really doing anything to earn the trust Yang was giving her, either.

            But something about her, something about her…

            “Want to get something to eat?” Yang asked. “My treat.”

            “Sure,” Blake replied.

            Yang directed their steps toward a marketplace she knew was nearby and let herself drift into silence. She’d convince Blake to trust her and get her to open up eventually. She just needed to be patient.

            Yang was not an especially patient person, but for this girl, she figured a bit of patience was worth the effort.


	13. Meeting the Wizard

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A whole week late! Updates may slow a bit for a while. Should still be at least every other week. Hopefully I can ramp back up to every week soon... we'll see what happens!

            Ruby thought that the University was the most beautiful building she had ever seen.

            The walls were constructed of a queer glassy green stone, rising higher than those of any surrounding building like immense waves of frozen water. The windows were sculpted to look like sea foam. Inside, nearly every room was flooded with natural light pouring through wide windows. Only the library and the impressive collection of artwork were housed in darkened cellar rooms kept free of the sun.

            Glynda Goodwitch led Ruby and Ironwood through several hallways and up at least four flights of stairs. They passed sunlit classrooms along the outer wall of the building, noisy rooms filled with students and lecturers, and interior labs and storage rooms along the inner wall, lit from within by a great shaft of emptiness and sunlight that ran through the center of the building from the open sky to a garden courtyard on the ground. Sometimes, when Ruby looked down, she thought that she could see through the glassy floor to the halls below.

            At last, they arrived. The Huntsman’s office lay behind a wide opaque green door. Glynda knocked, and, in response to a muffled “enter,” opened the door. The room was large and airy and equipped with expansive windows which gave a view of the Schnee palace. A gray-haired, bespectacled man sat behind a broad green desk covered in maps and papers. He looked up when they entered, set his mug on the desk, and stood to greet them.

            “Glynda, James. It is always good to see both of you looking well,” Ozpin said. Each nodded in response. “And you,” he continued, looking at Ruby. “You must be Ruby Rose.”

            “Yup, that would be me,” Ruby said. She straightened and gave a salute. “At your service.”

            Ozpin drew a second chair toward his desk and turned his attention briefly back to the Huntress and the General. “I would very much like to speak with each of you after I have talked to Ruby, if you can spare the time to wait.”

            “Of course, Ozpin,” Glynda said. James followed her out the door, which closed softly behind them.

            Ruby took the seat offered her and Ozpin resumed his own. He pulled a plate of cookies from somewhere under his desk and offered them to Ruby. She ate two politely, and then rapidly polished off about ten more. Ozpin studied her all the while.

            “You have silver eyes,” he said at last.

            Ruby nodded. “Yup! Yup, I do,” she said.

            His eyes traveled to the weapon by her side. “And you’re a scythe-wielder.”

            “My Uncle Qrow taught me,” Ruby said. “He’s really good.”

            Ozpin smiled. “That he is.” He took a sip of whatever was in his mug and thought for a moment. “Ruby, what is your earliest memory?”

            Ruby was stymied. “Um…” _I don’t see what that could have to do with becoming a Huntress, but, well, I guess it would be…_ “I remember holding tools for my mom when she was working on fixing something at our house in Patch,” Ruby said, squinting as she tried to remember. “It might be that or Yang telling me stories about heroes and monsters before bed.”

            “So you’d like to be a hero and fight monsters,” Ozpin said.

            “Yeah, I guess so,” Ruby said. “I want to help people.”

            Ozpin nodded. “Are you willing to leave your father to train with me here in the city?”

            Ruby nodded. She’d already thought about that and discussed it with her dad. “He says he’s going to be okay without me,” Ruby said. “He’s gotten one of his friends from way back to go hunt grimm with him when I leave.”

            Ozpin smiled. “We will begin your training tomorrow, then,” Ozpin said.

            “Yes!” Ruby jumped up out of her chair. “I mean… thank you for your kind… considerationing.”

            “Quite so,” Ozpin said. “Now, as to where you will stay in the city: we have room in our dormitories. Professor… excuse me… _Doctor_ Oobleck will be up in just a moment, and he can show you around.”

            As if on cue, the door crashed open and a tall, thin blur of a man whipped into the room.

            “Hello! You must be Ruby Rose. My name is Doctor Oobleck and I will take you on a brief tour of the University and then to your quarters in the student dormitories. Do you have any questions?”

            “Uh… no?”

            “Excellent! Let’s be off.”

            Ruby sprinted out of the room after the man, brushing past Goodwitch and Ironwood on their way back into Ozpin’s office. Oobleck was already off on an explanation of the school and its facilities. Ruby was surprised to find it somewhat difficult to keep up with the man. She struggled to pay attention to what he was saying as they went.

            “Huntsman Ozpin’s office is on the top floor of the school,” the Doctor was explaining, “as are the majority of the other teachers’ offices. Most of the students here are the children of the upper classes who wish to become expert healers, philosophers, advisers, and the like. Classrooms are on the outside of the core of the building, laboratories are on the inside, dormitories are found in the East and West Wings of the building, which are located on the West and East sides of the core of the building, respectively.”

            “Wait, what? Why?” Ruby cried.

            “Excellent question!” Oobleck said. “Now, in the uppermost classroom level, on which we now find ourselves, we hold philosophy and literary lectures.” He led Ruby dashing down a staircase and then barreled down another hallway. “On this floor, there are physics and chemistry labs.” Another staircase. “Here we study grimm, human, and faunus biology.”

            The floors ran together and the staircases and the classrooms. Finally, a door spit them out into a hall lined with dormitory rooms.

            Ruby breathed a sigh of relief.

            “You will be staying in this room, I believe,” Oobleck said, leading Ruby to a room on the second floor of what he told her was the East Wing of the building. “Are you alright with having a roommate?”

            “Sure,” Ruby said. “Who is she?”

            The door of the room flew open before Oobleck could knock. “Sal-u-tations!” the room’s occupant said.

            The girl was about Ruby’s height, freckled, orange-haired. She was outfitted in black and green, her clothes bringing out the emerald of her eyes. Ruby had not realized that it was physically possible for anyone to smile so broadly.

            “Ruby Rose, allow me to introduce you to Penny Polendina, General James Ironwood’s ward,” Oobleck said. “Miss Polendina, this is Ruby Rose.”

            Penny grasped Ruby’s hand and shook it. “It’s a pleasure to meet you!”

            Ruby was frozen for a moment as she processed the barrage of new information and the overwhelming cheeriness of her new roommate, but then she broke into a smile as her brain caught up. “Same ta you, Penny!” she said.

            “Right, then! I’ll let you get settled in. Here is your key. I believe that your father decided to wait outside for your Uncle Qrow with the horses, if you would like to collect your things from him.” Oobleck handed Ruby the key and sped off as he finished speaking.

            Ruby turned to her new roommate. “So… what are you studying at the University?” Ruby asked Penny.

            “Oh, I’m not a University student any more than you are,” Penny said. “I’m going to be training to be a huntress, just like you!”

            “With Ozpin?” Ruby asked.

            “I guess I’m not really sure,” Penny replied. “The Huntress I was supposed to be apprenticed to was supposed to come back from a mission two months ago, and no one has seen or heard from her,” Penny said, shaking her head for emphasis.

            “I see,” Ruby replied. She knew what sorts of things silence from the field might mean. Most of the things were not good. “So what have you been doing around here while waiting?”

            “Oh, lots of things!” Penny bubbled. “I’ve been around the city and I’ve seen all sorts of people. Do you live in the city?”

            Ruby shook her head. “No. I’m from Patch. I live out there with my dad.” That reminded her. “I should go say goodbye to my dad and get my pack.” She smiled at Penny and waved awkwardly. “See you later, friend!”

            Ruby was almost out the door before she realized that Penny had followed her. “You called me ‘friend’!” she said. “Am I really your friend?”

            “Uh… well, sure!” Ruby said. This freckle-faced girl was a bit over-the-top, but she was very friendly and seemed nice, and Ruby decided that she liked her. “Come meet my dad!” Ruby took Penny’s hand and pulled her out the door into the sun-baked streetside.

            “Dad! This is my roommate, Penny.”

            Taiyang Xiao Long turned from rubbing one of the horses and smiled, warm blue eyes crinkling. “Nice to meet you, Penny,” he said, extending his hand.

            Penny shook his hand energetically. “Sal-u-tations!” she said, again.

            “Are you training to be a huntress, too, then?” Taiyang asked. His eyes flickered to Ruby, questioning. Ruby grinned and shrugged.

            “Yes, sir!” Penny said. “I am combat-ready!”

            “Good for you,” Taiyang said, laughing. “You should show Ruby your weapon. She likes those. Ruby, do you need any help moving your things in?”

            “Nah, I don’t have much stuff,” Ruby said. “But you can come see my room if you want.”

            “Some other time.”

            Taiyang started slightly and turned around to face an approaching Qrow, glowering down from his horse. “Let Ruby get settled in with her new friend, Tai,” Qrow said. “You and I are going to go get a drink.”

            Ruby jumped up and hugged her uncle. He patted her on the head.

            “Run along, kiddo, get your stuff unpacked,” he said.

            Ruby nodded, grabbed her pack, and stood next to Penny, waving to her father and uncle as they rode off into the heart of the city.

            “Yang stole my flask so that I’d be sober when she met Oz, and then I wasn’t even there when she met Oz,” Ruby heard Qrow complain to Taiyang.

            “It’s okay, Qrow, we’ll get you something to drink,” Taiyang said reassuringly.

            “Oh, Uncle Qrow,” Ruby said, more to herself than to anyone else. “Okay, Penny, I’m going to go unpack.”

            “I’ll help!” Penny chirped. She led the way toward the dormitory building. Ruby turned around once before she followed inside, gazing at her family’s retreating backs.

            _I’m finally going to be a Huntress. Just like you. And I’m going to fight bad guys and hunt grimm._

            At that thought, Ruby did a happy little dance and followed her new friend through the door.


	14. In the Greatest City in the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Because if I were to cast the characters of RWBY in a production of Hamilton, you had better believe that Jaune would be a Schuyler sister.

            “By Vulcan’s hammer, Jaune Arc, if you knock over one more fruit stand I am packing you up in a box and shipping you back to Gaul.”

            “Ah,” Jaune said, awkwardly hopping his way through a minefield of melons, “I’m sorry.” He turned his big blue puppy dog eyes on the speaker. “You wouldn’t really do that, would you, Dad?”

            The muscular blond man ruffled Jaune’s hair. “I’d pack you right up with all these presents I’m buying for your mother and ship you back first class,” he said. He winked. “On account of the presents, of course.”

            Jaune smiled ruefully and bent to help the unfortunate fruit stand owner pick up his melons. It was an awkwardly accomplished feat; Jaune Arc was tall and gangly, with long thin limbs and hands and feet that looked too big for his body. “I’m really, really, really sorry,” he told the vendor again.

            “Eh,” the merchant said gruffly, “at least ye’ve got the decency to help an old man after ye’ve buggered ‘is business fer the day.” The man raked his gaze over Jaune’s fine Mistralian cotton tunic and his father’s elaborately tooled leather belt. “Mayhap ye’d help with more’n yer hands, eh?” he asked, eyeing Lord Arc’s purse.

            “Of course,” the nobleman replied. He handed the merchant enough coins to cover the cost of ten melons and took one of the most damaged melons for himself. “Alright, Jaune, let’s be off.”

            Jaune followed his father, trying to keep his unwieldy body under control. In his home city of Mistral, the streets were broad and clean, with well-defined walkways for pedestrians and various districts marked out for food vendors, artisans, residents, and so on. Vale, however, was a much wilder beast. In some places, buildings on opposite sides of the road kissed overhead, and you might have to skirt a man selling fruit while walking past a bookshop built directly across from a smithy.

            Jaune’s father was High Chancellor of Mistral, Lord of the Land of Lakes, ruling from Gaul, the ancestral Arc family home. Jaune had been raised more or less a prince, trained and taught all his life so he could one day take on his father’s position. But he’d never really managed to live up to his family’s title and position—he’d always been clumsy, awkward, and slow.

            Every year since Jaune’s thirteenth birthday, the High Chancellor had brought Jaune to Vale for the annual Vytal Festival, a great tournament of all the best knights and soldiers and nobles of the kingdom. He always encouraged Jaune to participate in the tournament, but Jaune always declined, and his father never forced him. Jaune had enough difficulty getting through the city streets in one piece; he felt that he hardly needed to tempt Fate with tournament battles.

            This year, however, Jaune was finally determined to try, as long as he didn’t kill himself on a fruit stand first. He had been training hard (more or less) all year, and he felt that he was finally (somewhat) prepared to fight.

            Unfortunately, he still hadn’t managed to unlock his aura, and he had no idea what his semblance was. He’d figure all that out, though, he was sure.

            Maybe.

            “Want to stop in there to buy something to wear at the Queen’s Ball?” the High Chancellor asked, gesturing toward a haberdashery.

            Jaune peered into the horror house of measuring tapes to get tangled in, needles to step on, and bolts of cloth to knock over and shuddered. “I’m good. Thanks.”

            “Just as well. I think we’ve spent enough today, eh?”

            “Yeah.” Jaune nodded, turned to follow his father, and barely avoided colliding with a slim dark-haired girl walking past alongside a muscular blonde. “Sorry, ladies,” he called over his shoulder.

            Eventually, to Jaune’s relief, they made it out of the busy central part of the city and into the wealthier north end, slowly moving through the upper-end shopping district and into the exclusive residential sector. The buildings grew larger and farther apart as they went. Jaune thought his feet were going to fall off from all the walking he was doing, but at least now he didn’t have to worry about knocking over a fruit stand every few blocks.

            “Well, here we are,” Jaune’s father said at last.

            They were standing in front of a three-story pillared building set a ways back off the street. Through the large entryway of the house, standing open now to let a stream of servants finishing up preparations for their arrival flow in and out, Jaune could see the opulent inner courtyard with its lush garden and burbling fountain. Jaune had been coming to the family’s townhouse since he was quite small. It wasn’t home, but it was close enough.

            Jaune traipsed up the steps and through the outer door, tripped over a slightly loosened flagstone, and fell on his face. He bounced back up and headed through the inner door and across the courtyard to the doorway opening onto the walkway that led to the stairway that led to his quarters on the third floor.

            When Jaune finally managed to land on his bed in one piece, he breathed a deep sigh of relief and promptly fell asleep.

            He awoke to a hand shaking his shoulder. He batted at the hand. “Just one more minute,” he muttered sleepily. He felt a glob of drool dribble down his cheek and cracked his eyes open a fraction of an inch.

            His father was standing at the side of his bed in a voluminous sky blue cloak. “Time to go!” he said enthusiastically. He tugged the curtain hanging over Jaune’s window open, letting in the red-orange light of the setting sun. “Take this!” He dropped a yellow cloak on Jaune’s bed and swirled out of the room. “Hurry up and get dressed!” he called over his shoulder.

            Jaune groaned and sat up. How could he have forgotten?

            Every time he came to Vale with his father, their first night in the city, they went to the Raven’s Foot for dinner. His father said it was the best place to catch up on gossip and get tips about any major criminal activity. And he liked the company.

            Jaune struggled to his feet and wobbled to the washbasin in the corner of his room. He splashed his face, dried off with a towel conveniently placed on a stool by the basin, and pulled open his trunk.

            “Hm…” Jaune scrunched up his face as he considered his choices. “What would the ladies like to see me in tonight?” He tossed some tunics out of the trunk and took a step back to examine them.

            “Jaune! I would like to eat my dinner today!”

            Jaune stuck his head out his window and saw his father standing in the streetside yard below.

            “Just a minute, Dad!” he shouted back. “You can’t rush perfection!”

            “Well, then, maybe Perfection shouldn’t have taken such a long afternoon nap!” his dad replied. “Hurry up!”

            Jaune huffed and returned to his deliberations. “Do I wear the dark blue to bring out my eyes?” he asked himself. “Or the gold-trimmed scarlet, to stand out from the crowd?” He held first one and then the other in front of his torso and looked at himself in the glass hanging from the wall. “Or…”

            “JAUNE ARC!”

            “Coming, Dad!”

            Jaune grabbed his third choice, a pristine white cotton tunic with a golden double arc embroidered across the chest. He pulled on the tunic and some loose blue pants, belted the tunic, strapped on his sword, and pulled on the cloak. After raking a comb through his hair to perfect his look, he tore through his bedroom door, barely avoided falling down the stairs, and rushed out the entryway to the street.

            “Took you long enough!” his father said. “Turns out this young lady is going the same way we are. She offered to walk with us.”

            Jaune bowed to a short woman with chin-length brown hair dressed smartly in a close-fitting brown chiton and black leggings and boots. She wore dark glasses over her eyes.

            “Coco Adel,” she said, smirking. Her voice had a confident tone. Jaune felt intimidated.

            “Jaune Arc,” he said.

            His father grinned. “There. Now that we’re all introduced, let’s head off!”

            Jaune followed behind his father and Coco. The two were discussing faunus-human relations on the southern frontier like old friends. Jaune thought about getting in on the conversation by commenting on the weather, but decided against it. Instead of talking, he focused all his energy on not falling down.

            Before the last light had faded from the sky, the trio arrived at the Raven’s Foot. The building looked the same as ever, with its gaudy façade and flashy sign hanging above the door. According to Coco, however, things were not quite the same as ever.

            “There’s a new King,” she had told them with a grin. “I like her. I’m counting on her lasting a good long while.”

            Now, as Jaune stepped through the door into the restaurant of this new King, liked by Coco Adel, he realized that more than the King had changed.

            The old creaky wooden furniture was gone. Now, a weird assortment of mismatched wood, bamboo, and stone tables and mostly-padded chairs were scattered about the room. The walls, once a peeling and yellowing white, had been repainted a deep shade of purple with gold stripes. Walking into the room, Jaune felt as though he were walking into a very small carnival tent.

            “It was nice to meet you both. See you around,” Coco Adel said. She walked over to a table occupied by a large young man with a gigantic curved sword strapped to his back and a small young man fiddling with what might have been a pair of knives. Jaune was fairly sure that either young man could dice him into tiny pieces on a whim.

            “Hey, I don’t think I’ve met you two!” Jaune followed the voice with his eyes and saw the muscular blonde from earlier. She was making her way toward them from a table occupied by a thin grumpy-looking man with red eyes and a stockier man who appeared to be laughing at the grump.

            “My lady,” Jaune’s father said. He bowed slightly.

            “My sir,” the woman replied, returning the bow with a faintly mocking grin. “What brings you to town?”

            “My son and I are here for the Vytal Festival,” Jaune’s father said. “We always come around here our first or second day in the city. We’re from Mistral,” he added. “I don’t think I’ve seen you around before.”

            The woman’s grin widened. “I’m new,” she said. “The name’s Yang Xiao Long. Have a seat, and Velvet will be with you soon.” The woman turned around and walked back past the table where the two men were sitting and through a door in the rear that appeared to lead to the kitchen.

            “Well, where do you want to sit?” Jaune’s father asked.

            Jaune scrunched up his forehead and looked around the room. “How about there?” he asked. He pointed to a long trestle table with plenty of empty seats currently occupied by a short energetic-looking young woman in pink and a young man who looked like he was on the verge of falling asleep.

            “Looks good to me!” his father said. They made their way over, skirting around tables and taking care not to step on any toes.

            “Hi, hey, there, mind if we join you?” Jaune asked.

            “Go right on ahead!” the woman said. “My name’s Nora Valkyrie and this is my partner Lie Ren but not, like, my _partner_ partner, I mean, like, my partner partner partner, because it’s not like that. Have you ever had the pancakes here? You should have the pancakes here, because they are AMAZING!”

            “Good evening,” the man said.

            Jaune stared openmouthed. He glanced sideways to find a similar look on his father’s face.

            “What can I get you folks?”

            Jaune turned in relief toward the source of the blessedly sane-sounding voice, a pretty waitress with elegant rabbit ears and a warm smile. The waitress set a fresh plate of pancakes in front of Nora, which immediately switched her from speak mode to eat mode.

            “Uh, I think I’ll have the pancakes, please,” Jaune said.

            His father snapped out of his daze as well. “You know what, bring me some of your pancakes, too,” he said.

            The waitress shot a knowing glance at Nora. “She convinced you, did she?” She smiled. “Don’t worry, the pancakes are almost as good as Nora says. And we only serve them at dinner around the Vytal Festival, so now is the time to have them. Can I bring you something to drink?”

            “I think we’ll be alright with just the pancakes,” Jaune’s father said. “But thank you.”

            “Alright, I’ll be bringing the pancakes around soon,” the waitress said.

            “So that must have been Velvet, then,” Jaune’s father said.

            “I guess so,” Jaune replied.

            “Ermph-hrm,” Nora commented through a mouthful of pancakes.

            With Nora preoccupied, the conversation proceeded at a normal pace, eventually meandering to discussion of the day’s political issues. High Chancellor Arc found Ren to be quite well-informed, if a bit reticent, and the two chatted (or, Jaune’s father chatted, with occasional input from Ren) about the intricacies of Hunter-government relationships in Vacuo and the complexities of the grain-for-fruit trade between Vale and Mistral. They discussed such dry subjects for what Jaune found to be an interminable time, and his attention wandered. When his father brought up the Vytal Festival and Ren provided some details on Princess Weiss’s Test, however, he perked up a bit.

            Velvet having brought his pancakes, Jaune discovered that they really were just about as delicious as Nora said. Once he got used to Nora’s rapid-fire speech and Ren’s relative quiet, Jaune found that he quite enjoyed talking with pair, and after Nora finished her pancakes and Jaune’s father tired of politics, the two guardspeople told quite a few interesting stories about policing the streets of Vale. Jaune was sufficiently entertained to allow Nora to steal one of his pancakes.

            Overall, the evening passed quietly and pleasantly enough. The King came by with the quiet dark-haired girl, whom she introduced as Blake Belladonna, to check on them and chat with Jaune’s father a bit. The two of them mostly talked about political things while Blake appeared to be on high alert watching for signs of trouble and didn’t say anything at all, so Jaune didn’t pay much attention to them.

            Then, just as they were getting ready to leave, whatever it was that Blake was apparently watching and waiting for happened.

            The door to the restaurant crashed open and a group of roughly 20 armed ruffians, some wearing the badge of the Red Fang on their clothes, flooded into the room.

            The tavern was immediately filled with the sound of a large number of heavily armed people simultaneously drawing their weapons. Jaune saw Nora had a gigantic hammer balanced over her shoulder, Ren had a pair of wickedly sharp green knives, and his father had drawn his elegant hand-and-a-half sword. Jaune suddenly felt safer. He drew his own sword rather clumsily and readied himself to fight.

            “WHAT DO YOU THINK YOU’RE DOING IN MY PUB?” the King bellowed. She was standing on a table, armored fists raised. “AND WHAT DID YOU DO TO MY DOOR? I JUST REPAINTED THAT!”

            The intruders stopped at the table and a brawny man who appeared to be the leader of the group stepped forward. “We’re here to teach you what happens when people go poking their noses into Torchwick’s private business,” he growled.

            “Well,” Yang growled back, “You can tell Torchwick that his private business just screwed over my friend’s private business. And you can also tell Torchwick that he can go f—”

            “Yang!” the grumpy man’s friend yelped, scandalized.

            “Oh, sorry, Dad,” the King said.

            “AM I GOING TO GET TO SMASH SOME HEADS IN OR WHAT?” Nora bellowed. Startled, Jaune jumped and fell over.

            “You know, I think if we just take a minute to _talk_ about this calmly, we can sort things out—” Jaune’s father started.

            Out of the corner of Jaune’s eye, as he struggled to stand back up, he saw a pancake go flying past his father’s head and smack into the side of the head of one of the intruders.

            At that, all hell broke loose and the world attempted to end while Jaune attempted to avoid being stepped on.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As I get progressively more burned out at work, my updates come slower and sloppier... my apologies! Expect minor edits to this chapter. The main events will not be changed, however.


	15. Of All the Pancake Houses in All the World

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I forgot how much energy college will take out of you. I'm only three weeks in, and I'm whooped.
> 
> Here's a short chapter as I get into the swing of things. Now that I have a routine pretty much down, hopefully I'll be able to take enough time to write so I can update every other week. But we'll see! At any rate, I definitely plan to continue this story. I'm not sure how to get there, but I know where I want to go.

            It was at moments like this that Nora Valkyrie felt most alive.

            She wasn’t sure how exactly it had happened, but in some way between throwing a pancake at a man’s head and the glorious moment that was the now she had managed to stack ten tables up on each other and climb to the top. She surveyed the chaos below with wild eyes.

            “I’M QUEEN OF THE CA-STLE, I’M QUEEN OF THE CA-STLE!” Nora sang. She laughed maniacally and twirled her hammer around, looking for a likely target.

            In one corner, the King’s new hire was fighting off a Red Fang man twice her size.

            “AH HA!” Nora shouted. She leaped off the stack of tables and brought Magnhild down on the man’s head with a satisfying _thwack_. His aura flashed in a brief burst of brown, and he keeled over.

            Nora grinned, shot a thumbs-up at Blake, and whirled about to find someone else to hit with her hammer.

            An opportunity presented itself in the form of a beefy woman with antlers who was on the verge of clocking Nora with an eerily glowing green hammer nearly as large as Magnhild.

            Nora checked the blow with Magnhild’s shaft and swung her hammer at the woman’s hips. The woman tried to jump out of the way of the hammer while simultaneously attempting to bring her own hammer around to check Nora’s, and she lost her balance and fell. As she struggled to get up, Nora swung Magnhild around and saw the woman’s aura go out in a surge of green. Nora gave a whoop and looked around for more enemies to clobber.

            Sadly, the enemies were slightly outnumbered. Apparently, they had not expected the tavern to be so crowded. The fight seemed to be ending just as quickly as it had begun.

            The King had taken out two thugs in the center of the room, Ren and the Mistralian Lord had taken down another, and the King’s father and grouchy uncle had taken down three more. Three had fallen to Coco and her friends, one to Velvet, yet another to Blake, and the rest were quickly yielding to the various other tavern patrons.

            Nora sidled up to Ren and sighed. “Barely any fight, and we’re still going to have to file paperwork on this.”

            Ren sighed, too. “Yeah.”

            “Aaaauugh,” said a voice from the floor.

            Nora yelped and jumped into Ren’s arms. “The floor talked!” She looked down and saw the bruised but basically unharmed face of Jaune Arc. “Oh.” She climbed down and stepped slightly away from Ren. “It’s just you. What are you doing on the floor?” She giggled. “People aren’t supposed to lie down on floors, silly!”

            Jaune stood slowly and painfully. “I… fell. And then… I couldn’t get back up.”

            “Gravity is a powerful thing,” Ren said sagely.

            A Red Fang member went flying across the room.

            “Alright, people, listen up!” Nora listened up as King Yang climbed onto a chair and surveyed the gradually quieting room. “You,” she pointed at the antlered woman, “you,” she pointed at the brawny leader man, “and you,” she pointed at a small man with a broken nose, “will remain here for questioning. The rest of you, get out and go tell this Torchwick person that he messed with the wrong group of people.”

            Those who hadn’t been singled out stood as quickly as they could and limped out of the restaurant.

            “Blake,” Yang continued after they had all left, “follow them.”

            Blake Belladonna stood and flashed from the room.

            Nora leaned over to Ren. “ _Should we follow, too, and arrest them?_ ” she hissed.

            Ren considered. “No. Not yet.”

            “ _Okay._ ”

            “Velvet,” Yang continued after Blake had left, “follow her. Plan Cat and Mouse.”

            Velvet nodded and ran out of the room with what looked like a small trunk in tow.

            “Uncle Qrow? Would you mind following both of them and reporting back to our Guards here when you get the location of this Torchwick fellow’s hideout?”

            Qrow Branwen sighed and nodded. “You owe me, though.” He strode out the door after Velvet.

            “Alright.” Yang cracked her knuckles and grinned wolfishly. “Let’s find out what these people know, shall we?”

            “Okay,” Ren said. “We know what Yang is doing. Now we go.”

            Nora pouted. “But we were just about to get to the good part!”

            Ren shook his head. “We don’t need to watch Yang do her questioning. And as soon as Huntsman Qrow gets back with the location of this Torchwick’s hideout, we need the Guard to be ready to make a move. We should go get back-up.”

            “Fine,” Nora said with a sigh. “We can go.”

            As they walked out the door and down the street, they heard Yang’s voice bellowing questions. Nora looked up at the sky and saw a shooting star.

            “I guess that’s how it goes when you’re King of Thieves, right?” Nora said, watching the star. She closed her eyes and made a wish.

            “I guess so,” Ren said.

            And they walked on together down the streets through the darkness.

 


	16. The Hard Place

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It has been too dang long.

            This was what Blake was made for. The soft earth, the cover of the forest. She was black liquid flowing between the black trees, a whisper in the dark.

            The people she followed were not. Blake knew that several of them were faunus, but they all moved like humans, crashing indiscriminately through the brush.

            Blake was faintly surprised that none of them had tried to run away rather than face their boss after such a crushing defeat. There had been no discussion before the flight, just a silent unanimous decision to crash down alleyways, through a black market chink in the city’s wall, and through the brush back to their boss’s hideout.

            Blake felt a twinge in her stomach, a shot of doubt. This felt wrong. These people were doing exactly what Yang told them to do. _Why would they obey her orders?_ They were tramping through the forest without taking care to cover their tracks or watch for a spy dogging their trail. _Shouldn’t they be more concerned about being followed?_

            _Wrong. Wrong. Wrong._

            All Blake knew with certainty was that she could smell their fear, almost taste it in the night air.

            Blake judged that they had been running for about half an hour past the city walls when the group finally slowed. She hung back, waiting for their next move.

            One faunus, an owl, if Blake was seeing the feathers properly through the dark, threw back her head and let out a bird-like cry, somewhere between a hoot and a screech.

            The forest rippled in front of them and dissolved. Blake gasped as a clearing came into view, with tents and campfires. The gang walked ahead past the line of illusion, and the forest rippled back into place.

            Blake blinked hard twice and shook her head. _An illusionist. Someone with a semblance that allows them to produce complex, realistic illusions_. Blake began to climb a nearby tree, using the long black bands of her weapon to pull herself up when necessary. _And they probably have the perimeter of the illusion booby-trapped. So someone has to let you in._

            Blake swung herself up to stand on a branch approximately 30 feet off the ground and looked down, searching for a chink in the illusion, hoping that the illusionist had gotten lazy and left off the top, leaving the camp open to the sky.

            _Yes_.

            A tall man wearing a black bowler hat and a long white coat stood in the center of the clearing. Blake could hear his voice faintly, as though through water. He was gesticulating emphatically with a cane. Even though Blake could not hear what he was saying, she could tell that he was definitely angry. The lighted tip of a cigar was visible under the hat. Something tickled the back of Blake’s memory. _“But their leader was an orange-haired fella. Smoking a cigar and wearing a flashy white coat, she said. And he carried a cane.”_ Blake frowned. _This must be the man_.

            Blake pulled herself up higher in the tree, tried shimmying out a little farther out along a branch. She caught a couple of words and phrases, like “failure” and “worthless gutter-rats,” but she still couldn’t catch much more than that.

            Shifting focus, Blake took a careful look around the camp. There were ten tents that looked like they could house maybe five people and a large additional tent which was relatively open in form and looked like it might be used as a mess hall. The defeated thugs… Blake thought there were probably twenty of them here. Three were back with Yang. _So there are either a lot more around here somewhere or_ _they’re expecting more to show up._ Blake saw maybe five preparing food around a campfire. And there was one more with the angry-cane-man who stood out from the rest—she was small and delicate, with parti-colored hair and a dainty parasol.

            A crow landed on a tree branch next to Blake. She shot it a look. It looked back. _If it so much as thinks about cawing, I am going to strangle it_.

            Something about the girl caught Blake’s attention. Most of the people in the crowd appeared to be shouting, accusing or attempting to defend themselves from accusations, but the girl stood silent.

            Then, a woman emerged from one of the smaller tents, and Blake was riveted.

            The woman had long dark hair and intense, glowing eyes. Power rolled off her in waves. Blake saw some of the crowd shiver, as if in fear.

            Blake stared at the woman, fascinated. Something about her seemed oddly familiar, but Blake was sure that she would have remembered this person if they had met. _Where… when…_

            The woman appeared to be speaking quietly. Then she raised her arm into the air and Blake had to bite her lip hard to keep from yelling in surprise and horror.

            Each of the defeated thugs began to glow with an intense light. Blake could hear their tortured screams, and she felt sick to her stomach. Some of the tents glowed as well, she noticed, and the people by the campfire lit up with the same horrible light.

            One by one, the glowing tents exploded into flames.

            One by one, in an explosion of dust, each of the thugs came apart, blood and entrails spattering the dirt.

            The illusion flickered and faded.

            Blake retched. She fought to keep quiet and clutched the tree branch with white-knuckled fingers.

            The quiet girl took the man with the cane and the woman each by the hand.

            And they vanished.


	17. Checking In on the Trainees

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still alive... haven't given up on this story quite yet...
> 
> Full-time college+part-time job+volunteer work required for my ridiculously inexpensive housing situation=not much time for writing. 
> 
> Excuses, excuses.
> 
> If anyone notices any continuity errors... please let me know.

            _Breathe in._

            “Just three miles left!”

            _Two steps._

            “We can do this, Ruby!”

            _Breathe out._

            “You betcha, Penny!”

            _Two steps._

            The girls’ training schedule was punishing. From basic fitness to combat training, from lectures on grimm to lessons in smithing, Ruby and Penny were kept busy from sunrise to sunset.

            _Breathe in._

            But Ruby knew it would be worth it. This was what she was meant to do. Train under a hunter. Become a huntress.

            _Two steps_.

            And in just the few short weeks that had passed, Ruby knew that she had become stronger. Tougher. Faster.

            _Breathe out_.

            And Penny had grown that much stronger right alongside her. Ruby had grown fond of her fellow trainee—Penny’s determined cheerfulness and incredible energy matched her own.

            _Two steps._

            And Ruby didn’t find that often. Her sister was angry. Her father was tired. Her uncle… was drunk.

            _Breathe in_.

            But Penny—Penny always had a smile for everyone. Energy to burn. A can-do attitude.

            _Two steps_.

            Which wasn’t to say that Penny didn’t have troubles of her own. Once, Ruby had woken during the night to the sound of soft weeping. As soon as she stirred and lit a candle, the sound had stopped, and Penny seemed to be sleeping.

            _Breathe out._

            But Ruby had gone to tuck Penny’s blankets up around her. And touched Penny’s cheek—and her hand had come away wet.

            _Two steps_.

            But Penny didn’t want to talk about it. So Ruby didn’t push her. When she was ready, Penny would let her know. Ruby was sure of it.

            _Breathe in_.

            And in the meantime, there was plenty of work to be done.


	18. Lull in the Action

            “Frankly, until they make another move, there isn’t much we can do.”

            Yang rubbed her temples and choked back a frustrated groan. She was sure that Coco was right. But more than anything, she hated playing the waiting game. She wanted to _do_ something.

            A week had passed since the attack on her bar. Blake had told her what had happened to the thugs she’d followed, and Qrow and Velvet had corroborated the story (in private, of course; Yang didn’t want the new recruit to know that she hadn’t trusted her to go alone). Even without their testimony, though, Yang wouldn’t have had trouble believing Blake—she’d been in the middle of her interrogation when it had blown up in her face. Literally. It had taken quite a while to clean the bits of brain out of her hair.

            Ren and Nora had also made an investigation of the area surrounding the (former) encampment with some of their fellow city guards, but they hadn’t found anything noteworthy. Dead end after dead end—and Yang was sick of it.

            “There must be some way to flush them out. Or lure them out? There has to be _something_ ,” Yang said. Her voice took on a childish whine on the last words. She winced and hoped that no one had noticed.

            “We have nothing to go on, Yang,” Coco said. Even though she had spent as much extra time as the rest of them patrolling the city, Coco still somehow managed to look cool and collected. Still, Yang heard the edge of exhaustion in her voice. “We know that they’re after dust. So what?”

             Sun Wukong, the thieves’ guild’s best cat burglar, cleared his throat. “We could steal a bunch of dust, too. Turn it into a dust race. They’d have to come after us eventually! And we’d be ready for ’em.” His monkey tail twitched in excitement.

            “That sounds like a terrible idea.” Neptune Vasilias, Sun’s suave and handsome partner-in-crime, glared at Sun across the table. “There’s no way we’d get away with stealing enough dust to make that work. And we don’t know if they’d actually come after us. They’d know that we’d be ready.”

            “Ah, but we’d _know_ that they’d know that we’d be ready.”

            “That’s idiotic.”

            “That’s fair.”

            “Hey!” Yang felt heat radiating off her skin. She clenched her fists and tried to rein in her temper. “We need to focus here.”

            “I don’t think Sun’s idea is that terrible, actually,” Velvet said quietly. One rabbit ear twitched thoughtfully. “I don’t think we should do it quite exactly like he suggested. It would be better to get someone else to say that they have the dust, so they don’t suspect.”

            Yatsuhashi Daichi, a big, good-natured man who acted as extra muscle for Coco and Velvet when they needed it, nodded his approval. “And we wouldn’t actually need to have the dust,” he rumbled. “We would just need people to _think_ that we have the dust. Er, that whoever we put up to this has the dust.”

            Yang almost sighed in relief. “Yes. Yes, that’s a good idea.” She rolled her shoulders and stood. “That’s enough thinking and planning for today. Get some rest, everyone. Unless you have… things to do.” She stretched. “If you think of anyone we might be able to convince to front this, let me know.”

            The rest of the guild members stood to leave as well, chatting and joking. To her left, Yang heard Sun trying to flirt with yet another female guild member. She felt her gut twist when she saw that it was Blake.

            “So, uh, yeah, you, me, tea? Sometime?” Sun smiled his goofy grin and took Blake’s hand in his.

            “Well…” Blake shrugged. “I don’t see why not.”

            “Fantastic!” Sun said.

            Yang didn’t need to hear the rest of the conversation. She filed out with the rest of her crew. Tossed a joke at Scarlet David. Headed to her quarters to grab her sparring gear.

            Once she was alone (in the attic of the Raven’s Foot—a possibly dangerous place for the King of Thieves to sleep, but Yang had a handy escape hatch in the roof and a sturdy collapsible ladder), Yang groaned and slumped down on the floor.

            “Why do all of the interesting ones have to like men?” she asked a dust bunny.

            The dust bunny didn’t answer.

            Yang sighed. “You’re right,” she told the dust bunny. “I have enough to worry about without bringing a woman into the mix. And it might create complications if I were to have… relations… with one of my thieves.”

            The dust bunny agreed silently.

            Yang smiled at the dust bunny companionably, then shook herself.

            _This is nuts. I don’t talk to dust bunnies_.

            She stood, grabbed what she’d need down at the training field, and tossed it in a sack. Opened the hatch. Climbed onto the roof.

            _I’m going to go down to the City Guard’s training grounds, and I’m going to find someone to punch_.

            Yang closed the hatch and got a better grip on the sack. She grinned.

            _Pyrrha Nikos. If I’m lucky, I’ll find Pyrrha Nikos. And we can beat each other up_.

            Yang stepped to the edge of the roof and jumped.


	19. Throwdown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...it has been far too long.

            Nearly every day, after Pyrrha had finished her shift for the Royal Guard and her regular training exercises, she headed to the City Guard’s training field. As long as she made it there before sunset, she could almost always find someone to spar with. And if she couldn’t, the field had a worn dirt track for running, bales of hay for target practice, sacks of dirt for punching, and weights for strength training. There was always plenty to do; that was one thing Pyrrha loved about what she did—there was always room for improvement.

            This afternoon, as there were no guards interested in sparring with her, Pyrrha was fighting a sack of dirt. The exercise was rhythmic and methodical—two hits, pivot, kick—and it helped her clear her mind and relax. Engaged in physical violence, Pyrrha felt at peace.

            Suddenly, behind her, Pyrrha heard shouts and the sound of flesh impacting flesh. She whipped around in time to see Yang Xiao Long, King of Thieves, take down a poor rookie guard left to keep an eye on the training fields. Yang’s violet eyes met her green ones, and Yang grinned ferociously.

            Pyrrha felt herself smiling in response—she couldn’t help it. She’d always liked Yang, with her easy, confident manner and her moments of off-beat humor. And, if Pyrrha was honest with herself, she could use a good fight with a decent partner.

            And Yang was certainly that. She often came by after a particularly frustrating day and took out some pent-up aggression on Pyrrha, and Pyrrha had rarely fought a more challenging opponent.

            “With the tournament coming up, I figured I could use some practice!” Yang called. “You think you can take me?”

            Pyrrha chuckled and knelt, adjusting her greaves. She picked up her shield and javelin from where she’d left them on the ground and straightened. “I was about to ask you the same,” she said. She glanced over Yang’s shoulder and waved off a guard who was running after Yang, still determined to stop the intruder even after what had happened to his partner.

            “Excellent.” Yang changed course slightly to make her way to the practice arena instead of the wall with the punching bags, and Pyrrha followed. At the edge of the arena—really just a circle of packed earth with a few benches around the outside for potential spectators—Yang dropped a sack. She pulled some dust-based ammunition from the bag and loaded her metal gauntlets. Pyrrha was fairly certain that by now Yang had realized that her semblance was polarity—she could control metal with her aura—but Yang was stubborn, and she continued to fight Pyrrha with metal weapons, anyway.

            Pyrrha loaded her own weapon and slung her shield over her left arm, slipping into her stance. Legs wide. Shield in front. Javelin in her right hand, at her side, ready.

            Yang faced her, tense in a boxer’s stance. “Ready when you are!” she said.

            Pyrrha nodded. “On three, then.”

            “One,” Yang said.

            “Two,” Pyrrha said.

            “Three!” Yang sprang forward immediately, right fist pulled back in preparation for a first blow.

            But Pyrrha was ready for her. She raised her shield to take the hit and swept out one leg to catch Yang’s ankles.

            And Yang was ready in return. She leapt up and over Pyrrha, flipping forward through the air to land neatly behind Pyrrha’s back.

            “Not bad for a first pass,” Pyrrha said, grinning.

            “You’re quick, Nikos, but I’m quicker!” Yang sang.

            Pyrrha pivoted and raised her weapon, firing two blasts in quick succession before rolling to her left to avoid Yang’s answering shots. Then, she charged forward, hurling her javelin through the air, catching Yang off-guard. The javelin struck Yang’s shoulder and ricocheted; Pyrrha caught it neatly, guiding it back to her hand. Her momentum carried her forward, and she lowered her shoulder into Yang, knocking her off-balance. Yang attempted to pull Pyrrha down with her as she fell, but Pyrrha danced away, edging out of reach.

            Almost as soon as Yang was down, though, she was back up again, looking for an opening in Pyrrha’s defenses. Pyrrha watched Yang’s aura flare up as her frustration grew. She sat back in her stance and waited for Yang to make a move.

            With a yell, Yang threw herself forward, throwing five punches in quick succession. Pyrrha caught four on her shield, but one landed on her right shoulder, hard. Pyrrha dug in and returned two quick hits with her javelin, catching Yang in the abdomen on both.

            By then, a small crowd of guards had gathered to watch the fight. Some shouted encouragements. Some cheered when either fighter landed a really solid hit. Some just seemed to be shouting for the sake of shouting. Pyrrha tuned them out, but she had come to realize that Yang loved the audience.

            Yang’s aura flashed and she hurled herself at Pyrrha with a yell, right arm once again reared back for a mighty Pyrrha-smashing punch. Instead of catching this one on her shield, Pyrrha reached out and focused on Yang’s gauntlet, shifting Yang’s hand just enough that Yang missed Pyrrha entirely and smashed into the ground.

            Yang stood, and Pyrrha shifted into a defensive position when she saw that Yang’s eyes glowed a bloody scarlet. “Your parlor trick ain’t got nothin’ on mine!” she shouted. Pyrrha had a fraction of a second to see Yang coming at her yet again with the obvious right hook _(predictable)_ and still she barely managed to raise her shield in time to take the supercharged hit. The impact rattled Pyrrha’s bones, shook the ground, and knocked onlookers into the dirt.

            Burning gold, Yang kept coming, swinging at Pyrrha with blinding speed. Pyrrha’s aura felt badly depleted, and she thought she could see a faint tinge of red at the edges of her vision. But Pyrrha had seen this before. She flipped around Yang, stayed just out of reach of her fists, pushed Yang’s gauntlets back with her own semblance when she had to, stayed in the fight. Even with Yang’s semblance boosting her aura up far beyond normal levels for a human or faunus, Yang could only land so many hits against Pyrrha, and Pyrrha could tell that she was becoming frustrated. And she was leaving herself exposed to the unexpected…

            “Grrr _AAAH!”_ Pyrrha heard herself yell reflexively as she crouched and launched herself forward and downward to ram her body shield-first into Yang’s gut. She heard a muffled grunt as Yang went down beneath her and saw the ripples of gold that flashed and faded as Yang’s aura was finally exhausted.

            Pyrrha stood, with some difficulty—she had bruises that she realized would last for quite some time. Some people in the crowd, she realized, were cheering, excited to see a knockout; most were going back to their regular training activities. She knelt to offer Yang her hand and realized that the King was laughing.

            “You got me this time, Nikos,” Yang said. She opened her eyes, and Pyrrha saw that they were back to their usual lilac. “But just you wait until our next fight!”

            Pyrrha smiled and pulled Yang to her feet. “I’ll look forward to it.” She slung her shield across her back as Yang shifted her gauntlets to their non-combat position. “For now, though…” Usually, when Yang came looking for a fight, something was bothering her; Pyrrha didn’t always have the right advice, but she liked to help when she could. “Why don’t we go get some dinner and catch up? It’s been a while since we had a good talk.”

            Yang closed her eyes and stretched, reaching her arms high over her head and cracking her back. “Sounds good to me. Dust knows I could use a break from guild hall food.” She blinked one eye open and looked at Pyrrha almost furtively. “Not that my cook’s food isn’t the best food in town.”

            “Of course. It is.” Pyrrha laughed. “But we can go somewhere else. And I’ll buy.”

            “Pyrrha,” Yang said, “You’re the best.”

            Pyrrha laughed again. “I don’t know about that,” she said.

            And that was that.


	20. Dollar for Your Insides

            _When does becoming transform into being?_

            Penny liked to keep her things neat. She felt more collected, more centered, when her personal effects were organized and in order.

            Her roommate (and new friend!) Ruby Rose, on the other hand…

            Penny smiled and began to arrange the sheets on Ruby’s bed, tucking in here and pulling tight there. She pulled a hairbrush free from the blankets and took what appeared to be a spare part for Crescent Rose out from under a pillow and set them on Ruby’s nightstand.

            _How do you know what you are when what you are striving to become differs vastly from what you were?_

            Under Ruby’s bed, Penny found a chaotic mess of books, papers, pens, letters, and half-empty jars of ink. She pulled these out, too, and arranged them on the desk the two shared. One letter, a long one, was from Ruby’s father; another (significantly shorter) epistle appeared to be from Ruby’s uncle, although the absolutely atrocious penmanship made it rather difficult to be sure.

            Not that Penny was spying; she simply saw what she saw as she regulated the disorder of Ruby’s possessions.

            _Is self-definition possible?_

            A wrench, loose screws, pins: Penny collected them all and sorted them into the various compartments of Ruby’s toolkit. The kit was red and black, like Ruby’s weapon and her favorite clothing. They made Penny smile—the colors.

            Finally, Penny took a broom and a dustpan from the corner of the room, and she began to sweep. The quantity of cookie crumbs Ruby shed was absolutely incredible and had to be seen to be believed.

            _Or do we only acquire definition through the view of others?_

            Satisfied at last, Penny tossed the contents of the dustpan into a small metal bin, replaced the pan and broom, and let herself settle down on her bed. Humming quietly to herself, she closed her eyes and willed her busy mind to quiet, quiet, quiet.

            “Hiya, Penny!”

            Penny opened her eyes to see Ruby Rose, grinning widely, in the doorway to their room. She slid off the bed and stood, smiling.

            “Hello, Ruby! Back already?”

            “Yeah,” Ruby said. “It took a lot less time to find all of the parts that I needed than I thought!” She set Crescent Rose on her bed, did a double take, and then looked around the room, surprised.

            “I hope you don’t mind that I cleaned up,” Penny said, faintly sheepishly.

            “Mind?” Ruby pulled Penny into an enthusiastic hug. “I think it’s fantastic! I just—uh—” She pulled back and took on a sheepish look herself. “I’m sorry that I make such a mess and that I wasn’t around to help you clean up!”

            “Don’t worry about it!” Penny smiled. “I enjoy cleaning! And it helps me think.”

            “Oh?” Ruby looked at Penny inquisitively. “Penny for your thoughts?” Her grin returned. “Get it? ’Cause…”

            Penny laughed. “Oh, Ruby.”

            “Well, come on! Watcha thinkin’ about?”

            “You know… nothing, really,” Penny said. She took a seat at the desk and pulled out some parchment. “Just… our homework from Ozpin.”

            Penny glanced over her shoulder at Ruby, lashes lowered. Her friend looked faintly troubled. Penny turned herself around on her chair and smiled at Ruby.

            “Really! That’s all.” Penny felt a faint tickle in her nose as she spoke, and sneezed violently before she could continue.

            “Well… okay,” Ruby said. “But if you ever want to talk… about… you know… _anything,_ you just let me know!”

            “Thank you, Ruby! And the same to you,” Penny said. She turned back to the desk and stared for a moment at the blank parchment, then opened a book and began to read.


End file.
